I am hunting for the sound of you,
scouring songs, dissembling diatribes, to re-find your voice.
I thought I heard you this morning
in the howl of an owl,
but when I listened more closely,
he was just confused.
He said, whoooooo, whoooooo,
As if you two had never met.
Please find me.
Her love was of the type more quietly known than externally expressed, like a
1950’s father who knows best- the type who loves you with spankings
and admonishment, but keeps a job he hates so that you can go to
a good college and get a job you might hate and
support your own family someday.
If she were a 1950’s father, she’d have drunk heavy-bottomed
tumblers of a thick whiskey, and her stories would be told best
by the clinking ice cubes left behind.
Her love was restrained and curt, as if she were a
1950’s housewife who never left her home without a hat pinned on straight and
matching bag and shoes and when she kissed you, her lipstick
never rubbed off on you because her mouth barely grazed yours. Her kisses
could be counted on.
If she were a 1950’s housewife, she would never add salt to your food, for
fear of the hypertension you might someday suffer from. It would be bland
food, with kind intentions. She believed in living long.
Everyone loves in a unique way. Of all the people in the world,
she chose me
to love in hers.
While Spring is generally considered to be a time of rebirth, unfortunately around here there has been a lot of loss thus far. Last month we lost our beloved cat Bill, and just a few short weeks later my Grandma died. She was my last living grandparent, and lived a very full 96 years. I’ve no doubt that her healthy lifestyle kept her well for so long; she was a fan of morning smoothies, and did fruit fasts one day a week for many years. Her husband, my grandfather, cured his cancer in the 1980s at the Gerson Institute, and they were followers of Gerson techniques for health (which I am as well). One memory that was shared at my Grandma’s memorial was that her father had delivered produce for a living. Through the depression, when people regularly struggled to for their next meals, my Grandma’s family always had fresh vegetables.
After finding out about her death, Ace and I flew up to say goodbye with my family. My father let us choose belongings to help remember her, and in addition to a few pieces of jewelry I found some wonderful photos, as well as a telegram. It was the first telegram I had ever seen in person! My great aunt sent it after my Grandma gave birth to my aunt, in 1948. Such a treasure.
We will be driving this weekend to attend her burial in Tucson, AZ, where she’ll be laid to rest next to my Grandpa. While in Tucson, we’ll be able to visit my maternal grandparents graves as well.
This was the obituary than ran in the local newspaper recently:
Sue Resnick passed away on Monday, April 9, 2012, in Ashland, Ore. She was 96 and had a full life knowing love from the day she was born. Sue spent over 65 years as a resident of Tucson, Ariz., and will be laid to rest there next to her husband, Hyman.
Sue’s passion was caring for others, and she was a hospital volunteer in her 80s, and spent the last 15 years crocheting over 600 blankets which she donated to local hospitals and orphanages. This was recognized with an award from Bens Bells, which she proudly wore daily.
She is survived by two sons, David and Allan; a daughter, Sharine; five grandchildren; six great-grandchildren; three sisters, Rachel, Mary and Gloria; and one brother, Saul.
A family remembrance was held in Ashland, and will be repeated for her family and friends in Tucson.”
Goodbye, Grandma. You are an inspiration, and I am very sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye before you left. I wish I had expressed more how much I appreciate and admire your warmth, your progressive nature, your positive outlook, and your stamina. I love you.