In Honor of Grandma, on her unveiling. Here's the eulogy I shared.

I wrote this piece to share at the funeral. I'm not at her unveiling today with my fmaily of origin. So I decided to share my eulogy with my family of choice. My grandmother was transitioning from life to death during early, early recovery in my world. While I didn't share the addiction with most of my family, I did share the lessons grandma taught me. My grandmother lived many of her later years with a husband in active addiction. While we never had the chance to talk about the struggles I had with my addict, I know that she of all people knows and that she truly loves me unconditionally.

Here goes.....

I don’t need to tell you how special my grandmother was. If you are here, you loved her and she loved you, and you KNOW how special she was. My mom recently said “everyone thinks that their mother is the best, but we KNOW that ours was.” I know that everyone here has special stories to share, because she made each one of us feel like we were the most important and the most special. I know that we will all share those stories over the coming days. So today, I would like to share some of the lessons that grandma taught me.

Grandma taught me about limits. She loved to tell a story that I don’t remember of when I was about 3, and was riding in the car with her. I was sticking my hand out the window and grandma told me that if I stuck it out again, she would slap it. I tested the limit. She enforced it. She told me that I got a shocked look on my face and said, “you hit me.” And I didn’t stick my hand out the window again.

Grandma taught me about independence. Years ago, after she had her stroke, I had the honor of being her “night nurse” over the summer while I was out of school. When I was preparing to go back to my town, she decided that she wanted to have time to herself in her house. She knew that the family would not want to let her be alone at night, so she told everyone that she was hiring someone from midnight to 6am and someone else to come in at 8 am, so that she could have 2 hours to herself. She never actually hired anyone to come in at night. Her plan was brilliant. Nobody ever wanted to bother her in the middle of the night, so nobody ever learned that she was doing as she chose, and being independent at night.

Grandma taught me about perseverance. This also happened in the period right after her stroke, when she decided that she wanted to drive again. Again, she knew that nobody in the family would agree with her plan, since she was a rather adventurous driver even before the stroke. She went out to the parking lot every day, and practiced turning the key. When she had trouble with her upper arm strength, she learned a trick from her friends in an arthritis swimming class at the JCC. She turned her wrist before grabbing the key so that she’d have more power to turn the key. Once she got to the point of being able to turn the ignition on, she’d practice going around the block, again in secret. Finally, after months of this, mom was late picking her up for a doctor’s appointment, and grandma just drove herself over to mom’s house. That’s how mom learned that she’d been secretly driving for so long.

I’m not sure how thrilled my mom was at the time with grandma’s independence or perseverance, but that was part of the spirit and energy that kept her with us for so long.

Grandma taught me how to handle whatever life brings with humor, grace, and gratitude. I remember the night that she had her pace maker put in. I’d called her in the hospital to see how she was doing, and was taken aback by her response. She told me “I am soooo mad at the doctors.” Since I had never in my life heard her complain about anything, I was alarmed, and asked her what had happened. “Well,” she said, “when they put in my pacemaker, they forgot to do my tummy tuck!!”

A few years ago, when I was going through some difficulties at work, Grandma taught me her own version of the serenity prayer, made up just for me. She told me, in a very practical and real way, to accept the things I cannot change, and change the things I can. What she said to me, whenever I was complaining about work was, “R, don’t worry about the tsoris, worry about the eye pencil.” I still struggle with the serenity prayer, but there’s hope for me, because Grandma sure got it right.

There are countless of other examples of grandma’s humor, grace, and gratitude under difficult circumstances, but the most recent one I remember was when Hospice first got involved with her. She told me, “R, I’m so busy. I have a nurse who comes in to do one thing, and a nurse’s assistant who comes in to do something else. I even have a social worker whose job is to make me happy. So, the social worker comes, and when she leaves, I’m happy!!”

Grandma taught me unconditional love. Whenever we greeted each other, we would always sing to each other the beginning of “You light up my life” only she never had the words or the tune right. Her version was “You light up my life; you bring me joy, forever!” Grandma accepted me, exactly as I am. She loved me fiercely, no matter what. I know that she had unique traditions with each of us. And she really did have a talent of making each one of us feel like we were the most important person in her life.

This week, grandma taught me about what’s most important and about letting go. When I first got to town last Friday, I think we both had our feet in two different worlds. I was struggling between commitments to work and my family in another town and my need to be here. Grandma, too, struggled at first, between being here and letting go. My brother in law said that the same energy that kept her with us for all of these years, kept her with us this week, way past anyone’s, including the hospice nurse’s expectations. But, as always, grandma did things on her own terms, and in her own time. And I was so blessed to be a part of this last journey. I went back to my former role as the “night nurse.” It was so peaceful sitting with her at night, and during those nights, I think we were both able to let go.

I love you Grandma, and you will always, always, always light up my life.