Out of Town Guests

My maternal Grandmother is probably boarding a plane right now to San Fransisco. I hadn't realized how old she was. You know how you see those pictures of you as a baby in the arms of some half zombiefied great grandparent you don't remember and you think your grandparents, the ones who played soccer with you and watched plays and ran around in mock dino battle could never share that half conscious expression. And then your grandmother, half hunched, surveys a step and begins the slow decent and you realize, you realize that age misses no one. And you can guess that your Mother is keenly aware of the same truth but for very different reasons.

I don't know if my Grandmother started the knot or is still untangling the fine work of her mother or the mother before that but almost every characteristic that I am working on extricating from myself springs directly from that source. That seems harsh and isn't within the truth of the matter but here, picking and choosing words, I suppose I should be more careful. Grandma is an incredible inspiration. She and her husband built an incredibly successful business with their own hands. They were the ones who had us kids over for weekends. Grandma gave me my first painting lessons and encouraged me to be a dancer after I gave her an impromptu Christmas ballet performance to Beach Boy songs. (I have never taken ballet so, you can bet how good THAT was.) She is part of the family where a lot of my world view comes from. The paternal side always has their heads in the clouds. The maternal side feels the world through their hands and their feet on pavement. If I have work ethic, it comes from the maternal side. My love of the arts is from their encouragement.


But Grandma. She holds all of these good traits and yet has caused such unnecessary struggle. Early in our relationship, I think Zach thought I was being paranoid because I expressed my concerns that people were thinking all these terrible things behind our back. He basically said, "People don't actually think that way." And then he met my Grandma. And he's seen tiny shreds in my Mom and they are there, festering in me.

Grandma visited my sister's house in Portland. The first thing she said to me when they got back was, "Well, she's made it livable" followed by some comment about it being a good first investment and that at least the neighborhood seems safe. B/c I know my own kind, I know in her head she's thinking that it was a hell of a lot of work, and wow, she did that tile all by herself, and that front walk is really beautiful but what comes out is critique.

At some point I stopped sharing my writing with my mother. I don't know if it was before or after that point she explained to me that when I brought her a piece, she just assumed that I knew she loved me and loved what I was doing and she was showing that love by really considering it. Really considering how I could make it better. So the first things she always said were critical. A childhood of unimaginable love and unimaginable scrutiny. I can't imagine how much softer a version my childhood was than hers.

I didn't spend enough time with Grandma when she was here. I don't think she's coming to the wedding. I'm not going to fight her. I'm done playing those games where someone says, "Oh, I just don't know if I should come," and then the other person is expected to say, "Oh no, we really want you there. The day just wouldn't be complete... blah blah blah." Fuck that. We're all adults. I'm done playing feminine games of courtesy.

But it's strange to know this may have been the last time her feet touch this soil. Hands run against these walls. Walls she helped build. A family she helped build. And it's hard b/c of our particular history to walk in shades of gray. How do I not feel emotionally pulled down every time she looks me over and I can hear the silent words of disapproval over the 10 pounds I've put on, and not writing her off completely. I can feel myself removing her from me and that frees me in some ways. Lessens the guilt and disapproval, but it also removes a woman who has shaped me. Has spent her sweat and tears and love and joy shaping me. For better and for worse.