Today is 29 years since my maternal grandmother passed away. I remember the events like it was yesterday. She'd been sick with flu like symptoms for a few days. She got up to use the rest room and was weak, my mom helped her to get there and sit on the toilet. She pitched forward and my mom caught her, and leaned her back when she noticed her lips turning blue. Mom called an ambulance that took her to the hospital. I wanted to go, I wanted to be with the rest of the family, but my mom sent me home with my dad. A few hours later around 8 pm my mom called to say my grandmother had passed. I was angry. I felt cheated. I felt lied to.
They told me she'd be fine, and that turned out to not be the case. She had a massive coronary. They had worked on her for several hours but to no avail. She was 75. If she was alive today, she'd be 104.
My beloved and I were talking about her a bit the other night. It was then that I actually realized that in my 11 years knowing her...Spending every Sunday and every holiday and everyday that I wasn't in school at her house...I have no memory of her ever cuddling me, hugging me or telling me she loved me. I know there was the mandatory kiss hello and good-bye from me, but there was never any loving grandmotherly kisses from her. Unlike my paternal grandmother...she showered me with affection often.
Two grandmothers and they were like night and day. I can only assume my maternal grandmother had any love for me, but I never heard it from her. I'm not sad about it or upset over it...it was what it was. My paternal grandma gave me enough love that more than made up for it.
It's just that I realized that here was a woman I never really knew, and all I have are the stories I've heard about her. And the memories of her delicious cooking. That is probably my only regret, is not paying more attention when she cooked.