April 08, 2007
She was everything beautiful
And different
You can't fence that in
It's like holding back the wind
-- Keith Urban
Most of you probably know by now that my grandmother died on March 10. I haven't wanted to write since then. Even though we were sort of prepared, death is never something you can truly get ready for properly. It happens and it sucks.
I wasn't ready for how hard I would take it. Nor was I ready for the sobs to give way to a nosebleed right before the funeral. She would have laughed.
I'm starting to feel better, but I tend to think of Louise (Nanny) before I go to bed, which can make sleep hard. I see her rocking chair in my bedroom and think of her. I pass her green chair in my other bedroom and think of her. I see her old rotary phone on my end table and think of her. But I'm glad I have these reminders.
More so, I'm glad to have a wealth of memories. Summer afternoons spent at Nanny's with my cousins Andy and Eric drinking Tang, eating Teacakes and playing in the soft brown dirt patch right off her garden that she always left for us to play in. 4th of Julys with lots of relatives, watermelon (that I never liked and she never got over that fact, even claiming I wasn't a true Dabbs), barbecue and fireworks.
When I finished college and moved back home, my dad and I would take her to dinner every Tuesday night. And mom, dad and I would go see her on Sundays, too. Later, I would stop by the nursing home to slip her some salt for her dinner and to be sure she ate it while listening to her complain about the travesty of having to be there. As depressing as that was, I loved it. I loved listening to her stories and fiery thoughts on everything from politics to the nurse that checked her blood pressure daily. She was always entertaining, whether she meant to be or not.
I had the opportunity to write a eulogy for her. I hope what I wrote would have made her proud. I know she would have loved that I slipped in there her love of ice cream and coffee, even though my aunt tried to make her quit both habits. I am eternally proud to be her granddaughter and have learned so much about perserverance, toughness and independence from her. I've learned not to take anything off of anyone and to speak my mind from her. My stubborness comes from both sides of the family, but a lot of it is her influence on me.
28 years wasn't enough, Louise. I'm going to stay down here for a while and kick ass as much as I can. I'll be up there shortly, ok?
I love you,
Amy
You can't fence that in
It's like holding back the wind
-- Keith Urban
Most of you probably know by now that my grandmother died on March 10. I haven't wanted to write since then. Even though we were sort of prepared, death is never something you can truly get ready for properly. It happens and it sucks.
I wasn't ready for how hard I would take it. Nor was I ready for the sobs to give way to a nosebleed right before the funeral. She would have laughed.
I'm starting to feel better, but I tend to think of Louise (Nanny) before I go to bed, which can make sleep hard. I see her rocking chair in my bedroom and think of her. I pass her green chair in my other bedroom and think of her. I see her old rotary phone on my end table and think of her. But I'm glad I have these reminders.
More so, I'm glad to have a wealth of memories. Summer afternoons spent at Nanny's with my cousins Andy and Eric drinking Tang, eating Teacakes and playing in the soft brown dirt patch right off her garden that she always left for us to play in. 4th of Julys with lots of relatives, watermelon (that I never liked and she never got over that fact, even claiming I wasn't a true Dabbs), barbecue and fireworks.
When I finished college and moved back home, my dad and I would take her to dinner every Tuesday night. And mom, dad and I would go see her on Sundays, too. Later, I would stop by the nursing home to slip her some salt for her dinner and to be sure she ate it while listening to her complain about the travesty of having to be there. As depressing as that was, I loved it. I loved listening to her stories and fiery thoughts on everything from politics to the nurse that checked her blood pressure daily. She was always entertaining, whether she meant to be or not.
I had the opportunity to write a eulogy for her. I hope what I wrote would have made her proud. I know she would have loved that I slipped in there her love of ice cream and coffee, even though my aunt tried to make her quit both habits. I am eternally proud to be her granddaughter and have learned so much about perserverance, toughness and independence from her. I've learned not to take anything off of anyone and to speak my mind from her. My stubborness comes from both sides of the family, but a lot of it is her influence on me.
28 years wasn't enough, Louise. I'm going to stay down here for a while and kick ass as much as I can. I'll be up there shortly, ok?
I love you,
Amy
Posted by Amy at 16:34:19 |
Heather wrote:
Love ya sis!