Why Grandparents Can Be Special

Grandparents can be special people who make such a deep impression on your heart that even years after they have died recollections of them still make you smile.  It is hard to believe that this year will mark the thirtieth anniversary of my grandmother’s death.  She has been gone for three quarters of my life, but when I close my eyes and think about her she is still very much alive in my memories.

Growing up I always felt that I had the best grandparents a kid could have.  Nonon and Poppy spoiled me and, even if I didn’t know what spoiled meant at a young age, I knew there was no better place to be than at their house.  Their home was happiness personified and the fact that they lived down the block and around the corner meant I got to see them all the time.  Friday nights, when I was a small child, were bowling nights for my dad.  While he was out with his friends, my grandmother would come over to visit carrying a box of Dunken Donuts.  We – Nonon, my mother, my brother and I – would eat the donuts while watching television.  Since it was Friday night we got to stay up late and cuddle on the couch with Nonon until we were practically falling asleep.  Of course we didn’t want to go to bed because going to bed meant we would have to say goodnight to our grandmother, and that was never something we wanted to do, even though we knew she would be back the following week. 

Even though my grandparents lived within walking distance, I still enjoyed sleeping over their house.  I had a small little snoopy suitcase (which my son now uses when he visits my parents – the circle of life) that I would pack with a pair of pajamas and a change of clothes.  Carrying it proudly, I would declare that I was going on vacation.  Things were simpler then, my world smaller.  I didn’t need a plane or a beach or even a passport to go on vacation. I was just excited to go visit the warmest place on Earth. Sleepovers always started with dinner, and Poppy was just about the best cook that ever lived.  His house always smelled of food and he always made whatever I requested.  And ice cream, my favorite, always followed dinner.  Poppy would give me several large scoops in a bowl which I would eat downstairs while watching television.  I always loved playing in their basement.  Even though it wasn’t much bigger than our basement it always felt much bigger.  Poppy had his sewing machine downstairs and something he would give us scraps of material to practice sewing.  Nonon had a button collection that as a really small child I thought was the coolest toy.  The tents Poppy made were always fun.  He would dig out his old woolen blanket and transform the basement it a campsite.  When it was finally time for bed I would ask Nonon to lie next to me and tell me stories.  I always wanted one more until the soft rhythm of her voice would lull me to sleep. 

Poppy always called me number one which made me feel special.  He was also a champion cheek pincher.  Whenever he saw me he would squeeze my cheeks until I was certain they would fall off.  As a kid I hated it and if anyone ever told me back then that a time would come when I missed it, I would have thought they were crazy.  But now, I wouldn’t mind the chance to travel back in time for one more cheek pinching.  It’s interesting the things we find ourselves missing when they are no longer there for us to take for granted.

My grandmother was the strongest person I knew.  She didn’t need a nut cracker because she could crack walnuts with her bare hands.  For a small child of three or four that was awesomely impressive.  I still can’t eat a walnut without thinking about her.  When I grew up I wanted to be as strong as she was. Maybe that’s why I have a bit of workout addiction.  Nonon could even put out candles with her fingers – a simple trick of wetting then first, but she always did that part so swiftly I missed it.  Who needed superhero when your grandmother could easily put any of the real superheroes to shame?

I still remember the last summer she was alive.  My parents were renting a house out on Long Island and she came to spend a few days with us.  I remember her floating in the water while having a conversation with my mother. At the time I had no idea how sick she was or that that was the last time I would ever spend time with her on the beach.  If I had known, would it have made a difference?  Would I have somehow been able to hold onto those final moments a little tighter?  A little longer?  Would I have hugged her more and not gone to sleep so easily the last time I ever slept over her house?  Death in many ways is incomprehensible to a sheltered child of ten.  And when she died my world seemed to cave in and nothing was ever the same again.

After she died, we still had Poppy but the house wasn’t the same. It was impossible not to miss her.  But Poppy made Friday nights special.  At the end of every week, my brother and I would go to Poppy’s house for dinner.  The night before he would ask my mother what we wanted to eat and he would always make us what we wanted.  Even though Nonon wasn’t there, his house was still special, probably because he had a way of making me feel special.

Yes, it is sad that my grandparents died when I was young, but I was fortunate to have known them for the years that I did.  I was lucky to have had them in my life to hug me, kiss me and pinch my cheeks.  I couldn’t imagine a childhood without them and the love they continuously showered upon me.