For My Grandmother

Dear Grandma,

You spent much of your childhood locked in a wardrobe. The only child of poor, Oklahoma landowners, they often lost their temper with you. They chose to lock you up, rather than tend to a child they viewed as a drain on their resources.

They often forgot you for a whole day. You were forced to stay there hungry and neglected, but too scared to call out. You learned to be quiet, unassuming, and to pass through the world unseen.

You developed a quiet strength.

A happy Christmas meant you received one fresh orange in your stocking. Fresh fruit was expensive, and therefore, a luxury. You were happy with it. You were content with simple things.

You grew up, got a degree, met my grandfather, and had two children. You and the family moved overseas when the children were young. It was a big move, but it was only the first of many. The family lived in the Middle East, India, China, Australia, and Africa. You traveled to many more places.

While you didn’t want the world to see you, you saw it.

My mother told me stories of being in Lebanon during the bombings. She couldn’t leave her school. They were on lockdown, with blackout curtains. They hid and couldn’t turn on the lights. You wanted her to come home, but the principal said if she left she wouldn’t pass sophomore year. You told her to leave. She left. You were a good mother. You were kind and gentle.

In Kuwait there were rats in the house. Rats got in and ate the food - your food and the dog’s food. It was hard to find food for the dog as it was, so he had to eat sweet potato and whale blubber.

My mother used to sneak out all the time. You got mad at her for hitchhiking, because you cared.

Your children saw the world, and passed on the love of adventure to their children.

You took me overseas, and all over the United States. You inspired me to live a life of adventure, of learning about other cultures, and of not being afraid.

When you finally returned to the United States, you had a house full of treasures - weapons and masks, drums and statues. Things I could touch, and feel connected to the world.

And you had orange trees.

You passed away this month. I couldn’t be there, because I was on the other side of the country. I wish so much I could have been by your side.

There were so many things I wanted to say, but when I called the hospital to try to speak to you, it was too late.

I would have said I love you. I would have said thank you; thank you for showing me it’s ok to be the quiet one. Thank you for showing me the world. Thank you for raising my mother overseas and teaching her about other cultures, about bravery, and resilience. I grew up in a house full of stories from other lands. Thank you for traveling with me. You were unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

You opted not to have a funeral. You didn’t want anyone to make a fuss over you. You never quite lost the feeling that you should go unseen. But you were seen. You were. And you were loved.

You saw more of the world than most. You had freedom and love. I hope you knew how much I loved you. You were strong and brilliant and magnificent. You made your dreams come true and you left a legacy of strength, bravery, and adventure.