XOXO - X

The first thing that came to mind for X were the series of quick scribbles at the end of every letter or card my grandma ever sent me. XOXO. Hugs & Kisses.

I miss my grandma terribly.

She had been ill in the hospital when an infection took the last of her strength. I remember the phone ringing just after dawn while I was in college. I couldn't get to it before the machine picked up. It rang again not long after. It was my dad, somber, calm. Grandma had died.

I had known less than a handful of people who had passed away in my short life. I knew this was coming. But I felt sideswiped. My chest. Someone had reached inside my chest, scraped part of it away and left a gaping hole. At her funeral, I remember taking my siblings' hands after it started. It's the only time in my adult life I've ever held their hands. It's also probably the only time I've ever seen them cry.

It surprised me how long her death hit me. A year on, while driving in the car, on my way home from work or some errand and I'd think of her and the tears would well up. How was it possible I'd never hug her again?

She made a habit of going to every grandchild's high school graduation. I was upset when she didn't come to mine, but I know now she only had another year left. I was disappointed that she'd never meet the man I would marry. For some reason, this seemed incredibly important to me. She would have loved him though.

I've learned more about my mom's childhood, about what happened to her since my grandma's death. I wonder now how much my beloved grandma knew. I was angry with her for a while, when I realized this sweet, spirited woman who adored my dad and went above and beyond to help her adult children and growing grandchildren, was the same woman who was the mother of at least one child who was being abused. I can't speak to the childhood of my mom's siblings, but I have my suspicions. The best defense I can offer in the spirit of being fair is that unlike most women at the time, she worked full time trying to keep her family afloat and was rarely home. But there too, I have my suspicions she knew something was wrong. She told my mom once that she would have left the home and taken the kids with her if she'd had the money to do so. It is not to her credit that I point out she had relatives who could have and would have helped her if her pride had not gotten in the way.

It's hard to look back on her with more experienced eyes. She was so good to us grandkids and so forgiving of her children's faults and troubles. Was there a heavy layer of guilt that I couldn't have noticed at the time? I have an overwhelming sense now that if she were around and I asked my questions, that it would hurt her deeply. I know her answers wouldn't help my mom. I'm not sure how well I'd sleep if she had any answers to give. Would my desire for information be worth the price of knowing? In this case, I'm not sure anymore.

I wonder now, what she would think of the person I've become. I wonder if she would be upset at what I've found out. I know she would be relieved that I'm taking care of my parents. I like to think she's watching over us all and putting in a little extra overtime to make sure our lives turn out for the best.