My Granio

A week ago today, my Granio passed away.

She was passionate, opinionated, funny, beautiful, adventurous and devoted. A fiery red-head with the spunk you'd expect, she gave our little Maeve her fiery locks. Her home always smelled warm, like her, and was full of things she loved. There were so many pictures of her grandchildren, and recently her great-grandchildren, that she kept them on a rotation. The walls were decorated with pictures of times at the lake house and sprinkled throughout the house were childish gifts and trinkets we gave her each year.

Nearly every time you visited, the house was re-arranged. As she got older we would make surprise visits to try and keep her from going to too much trouble for us, it nearly always back-fired though. Adam and I took our first trip together to visit her in 2006. Following my Dad's advice we didn't tell her we were coming. She had a weak heart and we didn't want her re-arranging the house. After ringing the bell she opened the door in surprise, hugged us and swore if my Dad or Uncle Kevin had any kids do this again she would leave the house to the Salvation Army...and she probably meant it. She pushed us out the door with cash and her car keys and told us to come back in an hour so she could ready the house.

She always won.

She was funny.

I am pretty sure no other grandmother threatened to spank them with a fly swatter for disobedience. And I distinctly remember her teasing threats of a "knuckle sandwich" followed with a good laugh. Her laugh was light and always accented with a slight snort and a sigh.

I will miss her laugh.

She was adventurous.

I loved her tales of sneaking out of the nursing school dorms at night to go "out on the town." How they would have to take turns sneaking out the window for fear of being caught. Even the activities she planned with us weren't typical "grandma" trips. She planned outings to exotic petting zoos, the kind with camels and llamas, drives out to Maryland to explore the most beautiful park full of miniature ponies, paddle boats and playgrounds. I remember games of miniature golf, and her often winning.

She loved her animals.

Visits to her always meant visits to her sweet dogs and hearing of the strays she has taken to the vet and saved. In later years she began coaxing cats as well. She was always concerned for animals, and I remember how much she worried when she learned Adam's dad was a hunter. She never wanted animals to suffer, not for any reason. Not having a dog of our own, we always loved that visits to her meant visits to a dog. My brother would stand in the backyard throwing balls for her old Golden Retriever Jessie while Jessie just stared at him and lied back down. She taught us to never bother a sleeping dog, to always train them when they're young and that if you really love your dog you'll cook them chicken and rice for dinner.

She was generous and thoughtful.

She remembered things you told her. When my brother was younger and getting ready to get his first dog, books came in the mail about choosing the right breed and training your pup. The gifts came without warning and always with a simple note, "I thought of you and thought you could use this." I was in the third grade the first year I performed in the Nutcracker. She drove down from DC to see my performance and brought me "The Nutcracker" book. When I expressed interests in music, the Charlotte Church cd came in the mail and a note about her watching her on Oprah. Her latest love was Charice, though she was pretty devoted to American Idol too. Trips to visit her meant picking out sweets in the grocery store, trips to the bookstore and treats sprinkled throughout your stay. Every time we went into the city without her, or it was time to go to the airport we were handed soft coolers full of bananas, sandwiches and sweets. Oh, and an umbrella, gotta have an umbrella. She made gifts of her jewelry to us girls, wanting us to enjoy it as we grew older. Each piece accompanied with a story about our PopPop and when he had given it to her.

She was devoted.

When my Granio loved you, she really loved you. She had these photo albums she made for my brother, cousins and me full of every picture we ever sent or she ever took, ever picture we ever colored for her and every piece of correspondence. She loved us, and it was a tangible reminder seeing those albums grow year after year. She and I talked a lot on the phone, but we wrote each other constantly. I began writing Granio as a child and by the time I was in 8th grade I was writing her several times a month. I looked forward to her letters coming in the mail. She was full of concern, advice, love and excitement. The last letter I received from her was for my birthday in August. She wrote about worrying about my being pregnant in our record heat, excitement over the baby, happiness that my cousin Shannon and I were close friends as adults, her thoughts on the Republican candidates and admitted she didn't feel well, that she needed to slow down. Something I'd never heard from her before.

Things happened so quickly with Granio. She wasn't feeling well, and not quite two months later she's gone. I've tried not to think of her too much this past week because when I do I feel like I can't breathe. My parents had booked me a flight out, I go to DC tomorrow. I won't have made it in time. She'll have never met Maeve and I hadn't seen her since last year. This is the first time in my life she won't be a part of my DC visit. She won't be there to hug, to laugh with, or to talk to. There's no Christmas present to buy, no birthdays to remember the Christmas card I had already addressed will never be mailed.

It seems unbelievable that she could be gone, too painful to really consider.

I will always love her, I will always miss her, and as my fiery redhead grows I will tell her about her great-grandmother and all the things I know.