A Grand 'Ma

Before I knew what trans was, let alone that I was trans, you could easily say that I was a Grandpa's Girl. But, where I can talk about all the wonderful things my Grand Dad did for me for 19 years, I can say just as many things about my Grand Ma, too. I just... didn't always see it in the moment.

I absolutely loved both of my grandparents, but it was easy to see who I felt most comfortable with, who I could talk to, who I understood and felt understood by. That was, without a doubt, my grandfather. However, that doesn't mean I had any love lost over my grandmother. We just didn't always see eye to eye, or have the proper communication to comprehend where each of us were coming from. But, despite that, that doesn't meant I didn't care, or didn't love her just as fiercely as I did her husband. It was simply... different.

From day one, my grandparents were a huge part of my life. They took care of me physically, emotionally, monetarily, you name it. Any need that I had, they either met, or did their best to meet. My grandmother wasn't as great with the emotional needs, but she never left me wearing the literal rags I would have been without her. She never let me forget my basic needs and necessities, no matter how much it annoyed me in the moment.

My grandmother was there for me from before my first moments. She took care of my mother as she was pregnant with me, was there in the delivery room as I made my appearance. My mom and I lived with her and my grandfather until I was four and a half- and even after that, I returned every weekend, every school vacation, every summer until my senior year in high school, when I had a job that didn't allow it. However, after I graduated, I spent my first year of university living with them again. This was when my grandfather died, and visits or calls to my grandmother... tapered off pretty quickly. It wasn't due to lack of love or care, I simply couldn't process life over there without both of them. So, I focused on school and work, pretending like nothing had happened. If I didn't see the missing piece, no one was gone, right?

But, this story isn't about my grandfather. As great as he was, my grandmother deserves some recognition as well.

At the age of 14, she met her eventual husband in Toledo. She was playing a game with a few of her friends, when he, at age 16, came over to grab an escaped baseball. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, he decided to sit and play the game with the small group of friends. And, as the story was always told to me, the rest was history.

They got married February 19 of 1966, and had my mother a little over a year later, in Houston. When my grandfather was deployed in Vietnam less than two years later, my grandmother raised my mom herself, with some help from her own mother- my Sito, or great grandmother. It was just the three girls and one little boy, alone in Houston, getting by until my grandpa was able to return and be with them again.

Throughout her life, my grandmother was never a stay-at-home mom. She may not have always worked full time, or in a trade, but she did always have some of her own income, on top of taking care of her kids and helping out with her baby brother- only 5 years older than her first child, born 18 years after her during her high school graduation. She may not have always made the best decisions as a parent, but what parent can say they were ever perfect? Plus, with three endless trouble makers, I doubt it was an easy job for her to tackle at all, let alone perfectly in every situation. She did what she could with the resources and knowledge that she had. She learned over time, and by the time I came around- nearly 30 years after my mother's appearance- some of those problem areas cooled down and mellowed out.

I don't remember a lot of the details of my early days, but I do remember bits and pieces. For most of my life, until the last few years, my grandmother worked as a lunch aid in the local elementary school. I remember she would bring me into the schools sometimes, where I would play with the students outside during lunch, despite being much younger than the other younglings. Then, once my cousins were old enough to be in the same school, I would hang out with them on lunches during spring breaks, where mine was usually the week prior to theirs.

My grandmother and her friends also played pinochle on a weekly basis. As a baby, my grandmother would put me in my high chair and have me watch. Then, once I as old enough to actually learn the rules of the game and how to play, I did. My grandmother and I would play one-on-one, or, as my closest in age cousin joined in, one-on-one-on-one, where my cousin and I would play separate, but team up on my grandmother anyway. Around age 10-11 is when my cousin and I started to get pretty decent, and beat my grandmother more and more often. By age 13-14, the students had generally surpassed the master- so much so that I could nearly win going backwards, and then still pull out and take the pot.

My grandmother was also the one who was super protective of us kids. While I understood the reason behind some of the rules and regulations she made, some of the extent never quite made sense. Even now, I can see the underlying reason clearly, but the way it was carried out wasn't always appropriate to the situation, or our growing ages. As a teenager, some of these rules and regulations really started to annoy me, and I started to break away from her slightly, and clinging more to my grandfather. At 16, the only place I was allowed to walk alone was the library. In this small town, I couldn't even walk down the street to the park, or through the alleys to the pizza or ice cream shops. If I wanted to go the three blocks to the community center to work out in the gym, I had to wait until I could be driven... because I wasn't allowed to walk three blocks on my own. At 15.

Now, again, I can see the reason behind it. She didn't want anything to happen to me, such as getting hit by a car, injured, or worse. However, at such a short distance, where she knew where I was going, when to expect me home, and I had my cell phone on me, I should have had a bit more freedom to leave the house.

This similar rule was pushed to the extreme when I lived there in undergrad, right after my grandfather died. At 19 years old, as a freshman in university, I had a curfew of 10pm. If I was working, I wouldn't even clock out until after 11pm, and on Saturdays, we didn't leave until 1am. With my job alone, this curfew was not acceptable. Add to it that I was in university and study groups would run over, we would decide to go somewhere else, go out for dinner, fall asleep on accident... I couldn't give her a solid answer on exactly where I would be and a precise time for me to be home. For this, I was in trouble a lot more often than I ever had been before- and it was all for things that I didn't exactly have control over. At 19, a full time student and full time worker, a 10pm curfew was not something I could keep to. As that semester finished, I set up to move out, where I wouldn't be kept to such a restrictive, rigid, and ridiculous time table.

Now, at that time, I wasn't making enough money to live on my own. I my have been working full time, but at less than 9$ an hour, I couldn't pay for an apartment by myself. Even with a roommate, we struggled to make ends meet. However, growing up with my grandmother, I subconsciously picked up on a lot of her financial habits and tricks that ended up keeping us afloat, and helped me re-stabilize and even begin to thrive relatively quickly after getting myself into a better situation. Not once did she actually show me how to keep track of my finances, but she was very much in charge of every cent that went in and out of that house. She knew what went where, was was okay to spend, what not to touch, kept money separate for each bill, and how to keep on top of it all. And, what do I do? Exactly what she did, and then a step further. It's the only reason I'm able to have what I do, and manage my life as it is. Thanks, Grandma.

She's also the one, that, throughout my childhood, tried to get me into various activities and programs. My grandfather may have been the one who funded them, but my grandmother did all the looking, planning, and organizing. Summer camps, art classes, theater camp, gym memberships, karate, painting events, trumpet lessons- any and everything she thought I would enjoy, she looked into and brought it to me to check out.

Honestly, if I didn't actually live with my mom, my grandmother would have practically been my mother. Between her and my grandfather, they are the ones who actually raised me. They provided for me from the moment I was born until after they died. My grandparents taught me the majority of the life lessons I needed before I ventured out on my own. They gave me a place of stability, gave me love, gave me every positive thing in my life.

Now, the last few years of my grandmother's life, after the death of my grandfather and my inevitable moving out due to the crazy curfew and inability to stay in that house without him, I wasn't around as much as I should have been- or even liked. I went to see my grandmother for some holidays, and every once in awhile would go visit for dinner. The dinners began to grow in frequency after graduation, when my schedule went from full time school and overtime work to just overtime work. Here, I had a few hours every so often I could go and visit.

In these last few visits, where just my grandmother and I would have dinner and play a couple hands of pinochle, is when I really started to see the heart and love within my grandmother. Not only that, but I started to see the qualities I shared with her. We all knew I was my grandfather's kid; I get all of my best qualities from him. But, I also started to see the similarities I shared with my grandmother. We weren't as different as I always believed after all.

We could both get lost in our own backyard. However, we both have a store that we can always turn around and find, no matter how lost we get. It's only fitting that her's has all but disappeared from Michigan now, after she's gone. We both have a nervous habit of picking at our nails, and even biting them. While she only chewed on the sides of her left thumbnail, I go to the extreme and am a chronic nail-biter, with little intention to stop gnawing on what remains of my fingernails. When using butter on toast, we both have an obsessive need to keep the surface as smooth as possible, using the un-serrated side of the knife as a way to make it happen. This kept the butter neat and tidy, without pockets of water or oil. Again, I took it several steps further, pushing it into any condiment surface I could: peanut butter, sour cream, spreadable cheese, preserves, icing... If you could make the surface smooth, you can bet your ass I do it. I don't quite know if you can say the student surpassed the teacher with these things, but, I took my grandmother's traits and increased the level.

In those last few visits, we really did start to have an understanding. I think she was finally seeing me as an adult, someone who was capable of taking care of themselves, and making their way in life. No longer was I the little kid she had to keep alive, along with her own children. No, I had surpassed my own mother maturity, and my grandmother was finally able to recognize that. But, I wouldn't have been able to get to that place in life without her. If I just had my mother to raise me, I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am now. I wouldn't have graduated high school with more than a 4.0 GPA. I wouldn't have known what to study, let alone gone to my university of choice on a half ride. I wouldn't have graduated from that same university with French honors, in the honors program, with 0.02GPA points short of High Distinction, despite working overtime all four years. I wouldn't have made my dream of living and teaching in France a reality, or had the strength to figure out where to go from here. No, without my Grand Ma, I can't say I would have done any of that at all.

For 23 years, my grandmother took care of me. She raised me. She made me who I am today. And now, just over a year after her unfortunate death, I miss her terribly, but know that she will forever be a part of me.

Grandma, thank you for being my Grand 'Ma.

July 1, 1944- April 9, 2020

Gone for now, but never forgotten, and always missed.