Today’s gratitude post was originally going to be about my son, Jace, before I branched into my other family.
However, when I called my Grandma Joy this morning, I had to make it about her.
I’ve been calling my grandparents once a week for over a year now (it was sporadic before), and it’s always entertaining. I’ll be writing a gratitude post about my grandpa soon, too. It’s actually sort of difficult to decide who to write the gratitude posts about, but Grandma Joy won the ticket this morning right as I went to the keyboard. My grandpa has always supported my writing, so I was just calling to read them some poetry. I ended up breaking up and crying as I read Wayward, a poem I wrote long ago and adapted in the revision to be about my own grief for my cousin, who passed away 3 years ago, when he was the same age I am now, that I only turned 2 weeks ago.
I usually always call them in between tasks or while doing chores in the afternoon, so when I called at 7:30 am this morning, Gossip Queen Joy quick-fired:
“What’s going on? You don’t call me around this time. What-How-Why-What’s going on? Is the baby up? Why are you calling? Everything ok?”
“Hi Grandma,” I say. “Everything’s fine, just calling to chat.”
“Oh!” She goes, “I’m making breakfast for your Grandad…”
If I had to describe her in just a couple of words: Iron Maiden. I mean this as a great compliment, hear me out. It’s only a torture device if you get on its bad side, for one. I thought to call her this before thinking of the torture device, though. She’s as hard as iron in her standards, holding herself to them to a fault, and others to them with a measured amount of mercy. On the other hand, I would bet she is still as bright today as she was as an actual maiden. She beams confidence and joy, always quick with love and care. In one hand, she has a firm hammer of judgment and she cradles your heart in the other.
I spent many after-school hours, summers, and weekends with my grandparents. Grandma Joy naturally became a role model in many areas, especially house management and story-telling and cooking. Her stories were all gossip and of her life, and I’ve heard many of them many times. When I was younger, I would roll my eyes. Now, I smile gently and listen. She is hands-down the best talker I know, probably the only person I call where I don’t need to carry the conversation.
Now, she may also be the nosiest person I know because she cares. I’ll be giving her an update about my life, and she will ask me a loaded bag of questions about the people I’m talking about to the point that I regularly have to respond, “I didn’t think to ask them that.”
Astute and steadfast with a big heart, if Grandma Joy didn’t become a homemaker, I think she could have been a revolutionary detective. Honestly, I may name a detective character after her, now that I think of it. I’m grateful to her for all of the hard and soft lessons that she’s given me, and still gives me today. She reminds me to understand the whole picture and our places within it when I forget, and she always asks about every area of my life with care and precision.
Even though my tomboy childhood turned its nose up at cooking, I watched her and learned more that I didn’t realize until I began cooking in earnest as an adult. I almost pursued a culinary degree to open a dinner theater. Life has a funny way of coming full circle a lot.
I love her dearly. I’m grateful she is still alive today to see me become a parent, listen to a poem that I wrote about our shared grief, and eventually meet my son later this year. Her great-grandson. I am grateful for how strong she is to weather the life she has lived, and hold strong even in her current circumstances of taking care of Grandpa Mac.
There are no photos of her with this post because she has always disliked them. I have some of us together, and some of just her, but I decided not to post them. Imagine she is the most beautiful Iron Maiden you’ve ever seen that you love more than fear, whose ultimate weapon is talking you to death as soon as you’re in earshot.
Jokes aside, I will listen to her talk every week for as long as I can. After losing my cousin, I’ve been making measured attempts to connect with members of my family who seem to have little interest in me. It rarely turns out well, but I would rather try and fail than live to regret not trying: an idealist’s flaw, getting hurt for little to no return, but not all bridges are built on love and trust. Some are built with hard work and dedication. The key is to balance the ship and not burn it by sailing too close to the sun. I have to ‘draw my line in the sand,’ and see if they will even come up to the line to meet me.
Thank you for reading! Until next Saturday, when I talk about someone else who I’m grateful for. Who has had a big impact on your life, family or otherwise, even if you didn’t realize it until later?
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