Sunday, August 9, 2009

a moment to remember

My grandfather on my father's side died when my dad was young. He and my grandmother were already divorced and while he stayed in New York and remarried, my grandmother slowly migrated west with my dad and eventually settled in Marin County. She eventually remarried, but when that didn't work out, she and a female co-worker, Betsy, decided to move into together. And so they did.

For 31 years of my life, which sadly, is my entire life, Betsy and my grandmother lived in their house on Rowland Boulevard in Novato. She was family and we referred to her as Tante B, a nod to her German heritage. When we were little, we loved visiting their house because there were paper dolls and dollhouses to play with, and we could stay in our pajamas all day baking cakes.

Betsy wasn't as into the playing, but she made us laugh. She could be a pain at times - even she would agree with that - but she seemed to enjoy life and its simple pleasures. For example, every Christmas she wanted socks, handkerchiefs, and a cookie sheet. Nothing more, nothing less.

A few years ago, Betsy was diagnosed with emphesyma. While not completely shocking (she was a lifelong smoker), it was disturbing to watch her slowly detriorate. For the past year, she has had numerous setbacks, but would then bounce back. She rarely left her room and this Christmas managed to come out and open one gift (a cookie sheet, go figure) before retiring to her bed. It was interesting, sad, and touching to watch my grandmother take care of her when for so many years, Betsy was the one who ran the house and took care of her.

In early July, I was in Sacramento when I received a call from my dad letting me know that Betsy had died that morning. My grandmother was with her and by all accounts, Betsy left this early peacefully. While sad, after I hung up the phone with my dad, I continued getting ready to see a friend's band play.
Last week, while on a date with my dad to see Spamalot, I started crying when talking about Betsy over dinner. It hit me that not only had I not cried, but no one really had. Like most, we had been expecting this and what concerned us most was what we were going to do with my grandmother and how doing so would affect our lives. Not many of us, including myself, even stopped for a minute and just thought about Betsy.

She didn't want a service, and didn't want a fuss made over her. She never complained, perhaps because she knew the disease that was killing her was brought on by her own choices. When my sisters and I were visiting in April, as we left, Betsy's voice crackled over the intercom telling us to come back in to see her. We did so and were told by her that this would be the last time she would say goodbye - and she was right.

So I guess in some small way, this is me making a fuss and paying tribute to a family member who wasn't perfect, but who loved us all and was loved back. I hope wherever she is, she is happy and knows that I did take the time to remember and she will always be a part of my family.