#4How lucky I am —
Amanda LaSala Jay2020-04-08 20:51
I was thinking about the last time I saw you, Grandma. It was my wedding day. You and Grandpa make the trek out here to celebrate that beautiful day with us. I started going though our wedding photos and I realized that within them are two beautiful gifts. The first is a photo strip from the photo booth we have, you and Grandpa got right in there like everyone else, unafraid to look goofy and have some fun!
The second, and the most special, is a photo of us hugging. I realize now that that was the last physical hug I’ll ever have from you and how lucky I am to have that moment preserved in a photograph.
That day was over five years ago but the thing is, I don’t think it’s the last time I saw you. Not really. On Saturday afternoon before I knew you’d passed, I had a moment. I was cleaning my kitchen and I suddenly stopped in my tracks, my head spun a bit and my body felt heavy. When the moment passed, I looked at my watch and saw it was 12:55. I found out a couple hours later that you’d passed at 12:47. I know that was you that I felt, I think you stopped by to see me one last time and give me one last hug before you left this physical world.
I’ll see you again someday, I’m sure of it. Until then, I’ll cherish the photos and memories. Oh, and feel free to stop by any time, I know what it feels like now ❤️
Hi Mom - One of my favorite memories of you was when I was about 8 or 9 years old and our family went to Six Flags over Texas. We were trying to cross over this funky bridge built on strong-smelling creosote-treated barrels and not having much luck. Until that day, I had never seen you laugh and scream with such abandon while you were trying to grab onto us kids so we wouldn’t fall in. None of us fell in, and we exhausted ourselves laughing by the time we crossed that bridge. Creosote is an unpleasant odor to most people, but to this day, whenever I smell creosote, my heart still leaps for joy remembering what a fun day I had with my Mom.
#2Rest well, Grandma —
Maria LaSala Ingraham2020-04-06 15:31
... Dear Grandma,
So many of my memories of you involve you singing. You were always singing, whether or not there was music to sing along to. I know you’ve always loved music – the quality, timeless music that comes from someone’s soul and expresses a story wrapped in emotion and passion. I remember you always wanted to be a part of it, harmonize with it, and give it a piece of yourself. You loved when we’d sing with you, and you loved when I’d play the piano for you. The last time I heard your voice, you were singing with grandpa, wishing me a happy birthday on my phone's voicemail. That was just a week ago, and I made sure to move it somewhere safe, so I can hold on to it, and remember you.
I’ve been listening to opera since your passing, because I know you love opera. This morning, when Rigoletto (La Donna e mobile) came on, I was overcome with chills, and had this feeling of lightness. Tears came to my eyes, but they weren’t filled with grief or sadness. I had this image of you, dramatically pretending to hit all of the high notes. I'm not sure where it came from, but I have a good feeling it was you trying to tell me to stay light hearted, and just enjoy the music.
Rest well, and never stop singing. I’ll be listening.
Oh, Grandma. Not too long ago, you sent me a card with a sweet note in it that you signed as "Grams." I thought it was cute, so I'm bringing it back for this note. I'm struggling a little for the right words, the right anecdote for this occasion, when all my memories of you are a kaleidoscope of conversations we had, moments spent together, none of them particularly meaningful or poignant except in their sum, they paint a picture in my head of who you were to me. We had our first bonding moment over our shared love of runny oatmeal--I remember being excited that you liked it soupy, too. We had another bond from our shared love of singing, and you quietly made it possible for me to pursue that passion. And when you didn't need your pretty purse for Slavic Club anymore, you gifted it to me, and your Slavic Club purse became my Court Purse (still in use to this day!). I think of you beaming, talking about what a spectacular production you'd put on with the Leisure World Theater Club as redemption for a less-impressive previous performance (in which you of course had no involvement), and I saw that spectacular production, and it was indeed magnificent. I remember you singing with Grandpa, hamming it up alongside him in silly skits. I used to laugh about how you and Grandpa, both hard of hearing, could talk for hours to each other about completely different topics, hooked together by a one-word common thread that began your separate tangents. And I will NEVER forget how you gave my boyfriend the same peck on the cheek when saying good-bye that you gave to your own flesh and blood. You lived such a rich and wondrous life, always so excited for upcoming adventures, and to have your family with you. I know now that you are the foundation for every good thing that I am, and I will never be able to thank you. Good-bye for now, Grams. And thank-you.
Light a Candle
Comments
The second, and the most special, is a photo of us hugging. I realize now that that was the last physical hug I’ll ever have from you and how lucky I am to have that moment preserved in a photograph.
That day was over five years ago but the thing is, I don’t think it’s the last time I saw you. Not really. On Saturday afternoon before I knew you’d passed, I had a moment. I was cleaning my kitchen and I suddenly stopped in my tracks, my head spun a bit and my body felt heavy. When the moment passed, I looked at my watch and saw it was 12:55. I found out a couple hours later that you’d passed at 12:47. I know that was you that I felt, I think you stopped by to see me one last time and give me one last hug before you left this physical world.
I’ll see you again someday, I’m sure of it. Until then, I’ll cherish the photos and memories. Oh, and feel free to stop by any time, I know what it feels like now ❤️
Dear Grandma,
So many of my memories of you involve you singing. You were always singing, whether or not there was music to sing along to. I know you’ve always loved music – the quality, timeless music that comes from someone’s soul and expresses a story wrapped in emotion and passion. I remember you always wanted to be a part of it, harmonize with it, and give it a piece of yourself. You loved when we’d sing with you, and you loved when I’d play the piano for you. The last time I heard your voice, you were singing with grandpa, wishing me a happy birthday on my phone's voicemail. That was just a week ago, and I made sure to move it somewhere safe, so I can hold on to it, and remember you.
I’ve been listening to opera since your passing, because I know you love opera. This morning, when Rigoletto (La Donna e mobile) came on, I was overcome with chills, and had this feeling of lightness. Tears came to my eyes, but they weren’t filled with grief or sadness. I had this image of you, dramatically pretending to hit all of the high notes. I'm not sure where it came from, but I have a good feeling it was you trying to tell me to stay light hearted, and just enjoy the music.
Rest well, and never stop singing. I’ll be listening.
Love,
Maria