My Grandma
Wow. Seven months have passed, and I can’t believe I am writing this post. February 17, 2011, the world lost an amazing woman, and I lost a huge part of my life.
Patricia King was every bit of the word fabulous. When I was little, she was my buddy. When my mom had to work weekends or just work a lot, I was with grandma. My grandma was quite hands on. I spent many days at the house I now call home. She took me swimming in the pool, and stopped at every 7-11 between here and Melbourne when I lied and said I had to pee because I really wanted a slush puppy. She bought me my first sewing machine, which I still have. So many of my early childhood memories involve my grandma, and she took amazing care of me throughout my life. When I was little and needed her, she was there. When I was a teenager and needed to talk, she was there. And when I was getting married and needed her advice, she was always there with something helpful. I can’t even begin to list all the things she has done for me in my life.
My grandmother was the strongest woman I have ever met. She was and still is my feminist icon. She had an incredibly tough upbringing, growing up in West Virginia, and losing her mother at the age of six. She got through everything with humor. In January, when she was told she would have to lose most of her leg due to poor circulation, her response was “Well, I guess there won’t be any more jitterbugging.” Things never came easy for her, but she made everything look so effortless. She never complained and never asked why; she just dealt with it and moved on. My grandma passed her amazing toughness and sense of humor on to my mom, who passed it to me, and now I see so much of it in my daughter. I am so proud to be her granddaughter, and to come from such strength.
When my grandfather was told his liver was shutting down, she was my first thought. As weird as it sounds, I knew my grandpa would be okay, he was going somewhere awesome, and she was the one who would need the help. He had spent the last few years taking care of her; as her Alzheimer’s had progressed further than he let anyone know. She couldn’t be left home alone anymore, and I knew that if no one could take care of her, she would have to leave the home that she loved, and the home she had shared with the love of her life. As most of you know, I made the decision to move to Florida and take care of her. It was the least I could do, because she had taken care of me for the last 28 years. People told me what a great thing I was doing for her, and I knew that. The biggest gift however was to myself and to my daughter. We got to spend seven months absorbing all of the wisdom that was Pat King. I got to spend seven months holding her hand, taking her to doctors’ visits and listening to her stories. The last seven months have been unbelievably challenging, as anyone who has cared for an Alzheimer’s patient can tell you, it ain’t easy. But they have also been so rewarding. While I knew that she loved having us here, and getting to see Bella every day, I knew how much she missed my grandpa. I am so happy they are reunited. It still stings to go into her bedroom to check on her, and she’s not there. But she is where she is happy, and healthy, and most likely, jitterbugging.
