Nomad
Last week, it really bothered me that I couldn't remember this word that I had once used while playing Scrabble with my grandma and Saul. I had been pretty young and I used a word that she couldn't believe I knew. She would tell me every time we played Scrabble that I had used that word and she had been so surprised. Well, last week, I couldn't remember it. So I kept thinking that I'd try and ask her next time I saw her, even though I also kept thinking that when I saw her on her birthday - last Sunday - that she hadn't seemed too well. It began to nag at me, this word, and it hit me that I might never remember it.
On Friday night, when my father, sister and I went to say goodbye to my grandmother, I asked a few people if they remembered the word, but they didn't. It occurred to me that I might never know it, since my grandmother clearly wasn't going to be able to tell me and few people would remember it like she did. That really bothered me. Then, today, on our way to the funeral, I went for my last chance effort and asked Saul whether he remembered the word.
"I do remember that she was impressed, but I can't think of the word," he said. "I'll think about it." But I wasn't too confident he'd be able to come up with it.
Luckily though, my brother did. "Nomad," he told me. "The word was 'nomad.' " And immediately, I knew he was right and I remembered it and I could even hear her voice telling the story.
"Nomad," she would say. "You said you knew that word because your teacher would call you a nomad because you were never in your seat." I can't remember using that word, and I can't really remember any teacher saying that to me or being out of my seat, but I remember hearing that story very clearly. I was really relieved when my brother came up with the word for me.
My grandmother and I were not close. I didn't call her to tell her about what was going on in my life, and I don't know how well she really knew me. I mean, she knew I was a teacher, and she knew where I worked and went to school and all, and I know she was proud of me and she liked hearing about what I was doing, but I don't think she really knew how sarcastic I am or any of that stuff. The best interactions we had were in the recent years when she'd ask me how my social life was and I learned to appreciate her sense of humor. "Hoppin," I'd respond to her question, "How's yours?"
"Hoppin," she'd answer. It made me laugh. And it made me, in those moments, appreciate that maybe there was a little more to my grandmother than I'd thought.
The thing is, I don't know. I mean, my dad has his memories and my family has their memories, but I've got mine and I can't decisively say that much about what she was like, just as she probably couldn't do that for me. I used to get pretty upset about that. I used to think that she should have done more or asked more or said more to me throughout our relationship, and I used to think that she wasn't the greatest grandmother. I thought I went to visit her out of obligation and I thought I cared more about her and did things for her because of my love for my father.
Well, I've spent a lot of time thinking about it this weekend and that's not true. In the end, I thought my grandmother was pretty funny at times. She had some good routines going. I liked visiting her. She told good stories. In fact, she was a good storyteller. I liked playing Scrabble with her. I even liked that she always said the word, "Wow-ee!" in this tone that only she could pull off. We might not have been close, but in recent weeks, as I thought about her and me and us more, I found out that she was really okay, and she had done the best she could. She was a grandma in her own way. And I realized that was good enough. It really was.
On Friday night, I was in the room with my grandma for a while by myself. It was pretty awkward, because she was so far gone - sort of like a really deep sleep, only not really. I told her about my teaching and cooking - almost like talking to myself - and then I began talking about some memories. I told her about the Scrabble game. "There was this word," I said. "I can't remember what it was, but you kept telling me how impressed you were I knew it." I even asked her then what the word was, even though I knew it was impossible for her to answer. And then as I was talking, I was also thinking about whether I should say what I had been thinking for the week or whether it would be cheesy, but I decided that since this was probably my last chance to say it, I should get it out there. "Grandma," I said, "I think you did the best you could with me. And I appreciate it." And so I said goodbye, I guess.
I'm not one for life lessons, especially in this place, and I don't have any. I don't know when or how I'll miss her, but I can tell you that when I was coming back tonight and I was in my room, I stood there for a few minutes and realized that I could hear her voice very clearly if I concentrated on a memory, and if I concentrated I could also see us playing Scrabble, and I realized that was as close as it was ever going to get to being real again.
On Friday night, when my father, sister and I went to say goodbye to my grandmother, I asked a few people if they remembered the word, but they didn't. It occurred to me that I might never know it, since my grandmother clearly wasn't going to be able to tell me and few people would remember it like she did. That really bothered me. Then, today, on our way to the funeral, I went for my last chance effort and asked Saul whether he remembered the word.
"I do remember that she was impressed, but I can't think of the word," he said. "I'll think about it." But I wasn't too confident he'd be able to come up with it.
Luckily though, my brother did. "Nomad," he told me. "The word was 'nomad.' " And immediately, I knew he was right and I remembered it and I could even hear her voice telling the story.
"Nomad," she would say. "You said you knew that word because your teacher would call you a nomad because you were never in your seat." I can't remember using that word, and I can't really remember any teacher saying that to me or being out of my seat, but I remember hearing that story very clearly. I was really relieved when my brother came up with the word for me.
My grandmother and I were not close. I didn't call her to tell her about what was going on in my life, and I don't know how well she really knew me. I mean, she knew I was a teacher, and she knew where I worked and went to school and all, and I know she was proud of me and she liked hearing about what I was doing, but I don't think she really knew how sarcastic I am or any of that stuff. The best interactions we had were in the recent years when she'd ask me how my social life was and I learned to appreciate her sense of humor. "Hoppin," I'd respond to her question, "How's yours?"
"Hoppin," she'd answer. It made me laugh. And it made me, in those moments, appreciate that maybe there was a little more to my grandmother than I'd thought.
The thing is, I don't know. I mean, my dad has his memories and my family has their memories, but I've got mine and I can't decisively say that much about what she was like, just as she probably couldn't do that for me. I used to get pretty upset about that. I used to think that she should have done more or asked more or said more to me throughout our relationship, and I used to think that she wasn't the greatest grandmother. I thought I went to visit her out of obligation and I thought I cared more about her and did things for her because of my love for my father.
Well, I've spent a lot of time thinking about it this weekend and that's not true. In the end, I thought my grandmother was pretty funny at times. She had some good routines going. I liked visiting her. She told good stories. In fact, she was a good storyteller. I liked playing Scrabble with her. I even liked that she always said the word, "Wow-ee!" in this tone that only she could pull off. We might not have been close, but in recent weeks, as I thought about her and me and us more, I found out that she was really okay, and she had done the best she could. She was a grandma in her own way. And I realized that was good enough. It really was.
On Friday night, I was in the room with my grandma for a while by myself. It was pretty awkward, because she was so far gone - sort of like a really deep sleep, only not really. I told her about my teaching and cooking - almost like talking to myself - and then I began talking about some memories. I told her about the Scrabble game. "There was this word," I said. "I can't remember what it was, but you kept telling me how impressed you were I knew it." I even asked her then what the word was, even though I knew it was impossible for her to answer. And then as I was talking, I was also thinking about whether I should say what I had been thinking for the week or whether it would be cheesy, but I decided that since this was probably my last chance to say it, I should get it out there. "Grandma," I said, "I think you did the best you could with me. And I appreciate it." And so I said goodbye, I guess.
I'm not one for life lessons, especially in this place, and I don't have any. I don't know when or how I'll miss her, but I can tell you that when I was coming back tonight and I was in my room, I stood there for a few minutes and realized that I could hear her voice very clearly if I concentrated on a memory, and if I concentrated I could also see us playing Scrabble, and I realized that was as close as it was ever going to get to being real again.
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