Tomorrow will be the three year anniversary of your death. How is it that you're gone? It's almost as if I don't remember losing you. But then the pain comes again. Down here on Earth we're all doing ok without you, to a certain extent. Angela and I will be going to college next year; Aunt Jackie is getting married in October. Al and Bonnie split... Mary had a miscarriage last Christmas... Your niece Louise died Monday....
Things have changed, Grandma. Ever since you left us that Easter, we're not a family anymore. Grandpa's house feels so empty without you around. You know you kept the family together; everything always centered around "Mom" or "Grandma." Remember how on Sundays, after church, we'd all come back to your house, and you'd make "pizza fritta?" Well, we don't do that anymore. I don't think Grandpa's been to church lately, other than on special holidays, and the rest of us don't get together as a family that frequently. Remember the Christmas before you died? We were all together... even little Jack! You should see him now! He's so cute. What's he, four already? We got together this past Christmas Eve, and Mary had gotten him a Spiderman electric toothbrush; he ran back and forth from your kitchen to the living room showing everyone. He's turning out just like Alex too, a little smart butt; Frankie told him Santa was over Tokyo, and he simply said, "That's nice Dad. Turn the TV back on." We all wish you could see him; he's got your blue eyes and pudgy cheeks.
Too bad you won't be able to make it to Jackie's wedding. She's marrying a man quite a bit younger than her, but he's a good guy. The planned date is October 4th, and the four eldest girl grandchildren are going to be bridesmaids. I'm finally in a wedding! I guess now I can't continue to pout about the flower girl incident at Frankie's wedding, huh? Jackie's having an autumn theme for the wedding; everything is timeless and beautiful. Maybe the boys will sing "Please Release Me" again, what do you think? It'll sort of bring you back into the picture, where you belong.
Everyone's having trouble without you, Grandma. A couple of months ago, Angela and I were talking to some friends about how great grandmas are... Angela said under her breath, "Not that I have any." Sometimes I stop and think, "What happened?" It's almost like, when did you get cancer? When did we lose you? Of course I remember the funeral like it was yesterday... But it's been so long that we've been without you... It's all so surreal to me still. You would think three years later I'd swallow it and get along. But I miss you Grandma. There's so much more I want to tell you, but I know you see it all. That makes part of me a little wary and scared, but at least you're still with me somehow. I'm sorry about all those times I didn't want to come over to your house. I either thought I had something better to do or was too scared of you dying. The times you showed us the streaks left from radiation scared me so much. One time Anthony asked me why Grandma was yellow. I had to explain to him about the jaundice and what was happening to you. Laura asked me the same night if you were dying. She was nine at the time, I think. How do you tell a nine year old and a seven year old that the doctors don't think their grandma will be alive for Christmas, when at the same time you can hardly keep from breaking down?
Grandma it's been too long. Can't you come back? You've missed so much, even if you have been looking down on it all along. I got a dog a few months after you died; Dad calls him a putz, and he'd probably frighten you, but he's a good boy.... I also had a book of my poetry published... Everyone says it's a big deal, but as you know, I've never taken compliments well. There's a story about you in it. It's just a small memoir about Angela and I growing up with you... but I think you'd like it. I'm not going to the junior prom this year... You'd probably want me to go to experience it, but to make a long story short, I've turned out to be quite the non-feminine and opinionated female... Angela died my hair purple and pink... on purpose.
Grandma, what's it like where you are? Where are you really? Every once in a while I'll see a little thing that will remind me of you or a habit you had... Fried dough and spaghetti sauce are the biggest of them all. Every where we go we compare the sauce to yours. No one in the family can match it. One of your brothers came pretty close at the Puzo reunion we had last July, but it still didn't have that Grandma touch.
Coming to the close of this I'm not sure what else to say. Did I say too much? Not enough? The wrong thing? Everything just right? I wish you were still here, sitting in the living room in your chair, watching one of those home shopping networks... Or yelling at Grandpa in Italian while the rest of us try to catch on to a familiar curse or phrase.
I knew you for thirteen years. "Short but sweet," someone might say. Although I never said it to you, I love you, Grandma. Everything happens for a reason, and you're better off where you are, but your family misses you; I miss you. Something I also never got a chance to say, Goodbye.
This is a beautiful piece of writing. Reading it made me think about my own grandmother and brought a tear to my eye. It is quite difficult to cope with the loss of the people that mean a lot to us. Yet, their memories will be cherished for an eternity and will never die.
Jamie was a healthy, active 12-year old who loved to skate and played hockey as well as any boy. Then one afternoon during a game, she suffered a stroke that changed her world. Her memoir takes the reader through her ordeal and her journey out of the
April 9, 2003
