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The love that shifted
When I was a little girl and up to and through my growing up I was devotedly in love with my Grandfather. He was pretty much the center of my universe, my go-to person for advice and perspective, and the man that all other men would be measured to. (reason 3,528 why I am single) We went on adventures together in his old brown Pontiac, The Brown Bomber, and we had a silly way of repeating things along the drive. As we pulled out of the carport it was, “And we’re off! In a gale of whale butter!” Followed by both of us chanting, “pa ca ta, pa ca ta, pa ca ta”.
My Grandfather called all female drivers “Gloria” and he had a way of narrating what everyone was doing as he kept his hands firmly on 10 and 12. “Look at that guy in his truck. He’s trying to catch up to that Gloria up there in her tank.” Opera music would be softly dialed in on the radio and I absorbed and adored it all.
The love I had for my Grandfather was an easy one. We were kindred spirits, sharing a love for naughty stories and imported wines. We would always catch each other’s eye during family meals and ground each other within the chaos. This was a man that sent me a typed letter every week my first year in college and then bound them all into a book as a gift. He never once doubted any of my life’s aspirations and constantly supported me with his words and actions.
My Grandmother, on the other hand, was a different sort of love. If I am to be honest, and I might as well, I never really felt like she loved me as a little girl. I felt like there was always this veil of disapprovement wrapped around the bastardness of my very existence. Where my Grandfather went out of his way to embrace me just as I was, my GM was determined to change me.
Under her watch I was subjected to all sorts of child-like torture traps: dragged to hair salons, D.@.R. meetings, lunch groups, stores that sold frilly underthings. I was tsk tsk’d and spit shined and made to keep my hands behind my back and not speak unless spoken to. Many times I could tell GM was positively mortified about things I was doing.
The 2nd half of 7th grade I lived with my Grandparents. This would be a defining moment in my life: era of first menstrual cycle, era of my feet stretching out to unshoppable proportions, era of first real crushes and fashion trial and error. The funny thing is- as much as she so desperately yearned for me to be typical, normal and unassuming- that is how much I wanted to be, well, not.
In 7th grade I went to school wearing an old t-shirt from the local university, tight fitting cut-off blue jean shorts and OVER that a calf length plaid skirt.(naturally. oh the plaid thing is deep, people. deep.) The skirt was one of those fancy numbers that buttoned up the front, only I didn’t like to wear it that way. I decided that it needed to be worn unbuttoned except for the top two buttons that were just holding it on. Basically what I was going for was a blue jean cape of pastel plaid checks. I was rockin’!
My GM did not see me the morning I wore this outfit, but she heard about it from the Dad down the street that drove a carpool to the bus stop. He was concerned that it might be a stepping stone to acting out and since I still played Barbies (shut up) with his 5th grade daughter that was not something he wanted to happen. No rebellious 12 year old was going to influence his little girl.
So GM fretted all day. She consulted friends, my Mother, even my Grandfather, but none of them had the sort of concrete and applicable action plan that worked for her method of loving. And so when I arrived home that afternoon I was sat down and told to stop being over the top. I was told to wear the Coca Cola logo shirt that all the other kids were wearing. I was told that she would inspect all of my outfits before I left the house.
And I remember running into the kitchen, grabbing the phone and locking myself up in the pantry where I made an exasperated call to my Mother. My Mother, who, for my entire life, had told me to be nothing but ME, listened to me cry and snort and snot and blither on. And then she said, “Imagine how hard it was for me?” And she told me all about the many things that she had wanted to do in her life but how GM had stopped her, stifled her, crushed her. All because these things weren’t what girls did. In my Mother’s era girls did not play the drums and in my era girls did not wear plaid skirts over blue jean shorts.
GM and I survived my 7th grade, just barely, but things were strained for a while. I always felt like she never “got” me. That phone calls or cards sent were done so out of Grandmotherly obligation. Oddly enough it wasn’t until I had been accepted into an overseas theatre school that I felt the ice melt. Suddenly she was sharing stories with me, tales about her own artistic achievements and desires. Oh it was all revealed in a tidy manner, but I caught a glimpse of the woman I had never seen.
Years passed and our relationship became more stable as she became more accepting. Family tragedies came and went and we grew closer. I still annoyed the shit out of her many times. Every time I came home from university I would take over the kitchen and try to whip up some exotic meal and she tolerated it. But I could hear her at night scrubbing down the kitchen as if I was a dog that had pissed on her turf.
And now my Grandfather is dead. He has been for almost five and a half years. In that time I have had to learn to love my Grandmother in a way that began as totally unfamiliar. I had to love her despite the cruelties that were heightened by Alzheimer’s. I had to love her as she often channeled violent energy at me. Each time she would flash her anger a part of me would recoil at it, the way it made me feel 12 again.
But in between the moments of hostility, and sometimes for beautifully long stretches of time, there is a Grandmother that I never had. There is a sweet, gentle, doting, appreciative Grandmother that weeps with happiness when I bring her a small can of coke. There is a woman that will lean her head on my shoulder and snuggle in. There is a Grandmother that strokes my face as I tuck her in at night and begs to know if I love her.
Of course I have always loved my Grandmother. Of course, of course. But it was a sort of aloof love, a love that could never come close to the love I had for my Grandfather. At some point in these 5 and a half years a great shift happened. My heart expanded and learned to let go of stupid things. I now love this woman more than I ever thought possible. I feel like it is a lift a car off of her sort of love. A “I love you even when you are not lovable” love. I love her.
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33 Responses to “The love that shifted”
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Oh, Cali. How heartbreaking. How beautiful.
Wow. That sounds exactly like my relationship with my grands. And I have never missed my grandma more than at this moment.
Beautiful.
That is one of the nicest things I think could ever be said about another person. You and your grandmother are both very lucky.
this is so lovely. <3
That is just beautiful. You are a truly wonderful person. You are a great granddaughter and you will be a fantastic mother.
That is such an emotional post. Thank you for sharing it.
pardon me while I clean up the keyboard from the tears I am shedding, in love for you, and in memory of my own grandmother z”l.
Lovely. And you’re making me miss my grands.
Fantastic writing. What a journey you have been on with your GM. Truly inspiring.
How sweet, and sad. ♥
what a beautiful, honest post. thanks for sharing with us, cali.
Beautiful.
I am now weeping copiously onto the keyboard. I will send you a bill post haste.
Ditto what Becky just said. Stop that! I don’t cry!
Cali, you made me bawl. And you made me miss my grandfather tonight. And now the phrase “a gale of whale butter” will be in my head all night and all day tomorrow.
How sweet! You know it really takes a special person to forgive the past behaviors and find a way to love them for who they are. You and GM have been through so much and it is wonderful to have the bond you have with her now. I love the grandfather stories also, I too had a very special relation ship with my GF, to this day family tells me how I was the apple of his eye. We often shared grilled cheese sandwiches with chicken noodle soup as we watch Julia Childs cook. Thanks for sharing Cali, this brought back so many great feelings for me.
I love, love, love this story…
That was so sweet.
Oh love, the familial binds that tie aren’t always woven of gold thread are they? You are so incredibly gifted and wonderful. You made me well up, and ache to be physically closer to my “Sweets”. I love you! Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
Really, that was one of the most beautiful posts you have ever written (or at least of the ones I have read). Thank you for sharing your GM.
Wow….beautiful…
beautiful just beautiful….
your grandma is soo blessed to have a granddaughter like you.. plus one takes awesome photos of her !!!!!
hugs!!
This is lovely, babe.
What a beautiful post. I’m glad that you now have the relationship you have with your grandmother. Even though alzheimers has robbed her of so much. I’m also sorry about your grandfather, he sounds like a wonderful man.
I loved this post–loved imagining you with your gradfather and then seeing how your love toward your grandmother has changed so much. This was just beautiful.
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I love your Gma reflections
Well said. My father had Alzheimer’s. Before he died he used to confuse me with other people. I got used to answering to Warren (his younger brother), Viv (my late mother) and even Ma (his mother.) I wonder if your GM thinks you’re HER mother when she leans her head against you and asks if you love her. I would guess her mother kept her on a pretty tight leash growing up. That’s the way it was in the South during her girlhood. Those attitudes get handed down through the generations. You’ll get to be the one who breaks the chain.
Just completely beautiful Cal.
xxx
That was so beautiful Cali.
I lost my grandfather 15 years ago in June and I miss him so much. As opposed to opera in the car we used to sing. He had booklets of old songs (late 1800s-mid 1900s) that we sang from as well as Christmas carols even in July. Mostly he gave me my love of history. I cried last year in Gettysburg, remembering us tramping through the battlefield as he told me stories about what happened where. I miss him so so much.
Thanks for such a beautiful post.
Oh my gosh, I can so relate. My Grandmother and my love was not so strained as yours in the beginning, but I had a very similar relationship. My Grandfather just died last November, and I was always “his girl.” I love my Grandmother, but the relationship is very different, and she doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve for me like Grandfather did.
Thank you for this beautiful story. Every time I see a story like this, it heals a little bit of the hole left by Grandfather’s passing, and makes it easier to understand my mixed up feelings about my Grandmother.
By the way, were you required to call them Grandmother and Grandfather too? I was.
this is such a beautiful post, cali. thanks for sharing.