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| My grandma says that meeting Jason Alexander was one of the highlights of her life. I'm glad I was there with her. Two funny, short Jews. |
My grandmother’s memory has been slowly deteriorating for a few years now. But it has gone from forgetting a few things to so much worse. It went from forgetting a girl from high school she used to talk about every now and then, to having to be reminded of my cousins’ names. I think this sharp decline was brought on by my grandfather’s health taking a sudden turn for the worst.
There is one memory I have of her that makes me
happy every time I think about it. It’s so small and random, but I think it’s
because it was a small glimpse into a side of my grandma that most people don’t
get to see.
Before I tell you this story, you must
understand why it stands out amongst two decades of stories I have of my
grandma. She is not a “silly” woman. She is very thoughtful and serious. I
think my grandma would have made a great counselor because she is fascinated by
people and considering what it is that makes them tick. She isn’t harsh, but
she isn’t one to joke around. I can’t imagine her being young and goofing
around, and I think it’s because she didn’t get to ever do that much.
When I was a senior in high school,
I was trying to pick the song which would be my last dance solo song before I
graduated. My grandma kept insisting on “Bring on the Men” from the musical
Jekyll & Hyde. My mom and I kept telling her I wouldn’t do it because it is
sung by a prostitute talking about how much she loves sex, sometimes threesomes,
at all times of the day. Not necessarily appropriate for an 18 year old at a
dance competition surrounded by children.
“But it’s so fun and catchy! It
makes me want to dance every time. Here just listen to it.” She popped her CD
into her kitchen radio.
“Ma, I’ve heard it a million times,”
I said. But she wouldn’t listen.
So we sat around my grandma’s
kitchen listening to “Bring on the Men”. She just stared at me, beaming one of
her biggest smiles. “It just makes me want to dance!” she repeated. And she
started bopping up and down. She swayed from side to side with jazz hands. It’s
one of the only times I’ve seen my grandma act goofy.
The other day, I brought up the song
and she couldn’t recall it. I told her about her dancing to it, and she stared
blankly at me. I played it for her. Not a sign of recognition. “It sounds fun,
though.” She said. “Yeah,” I said. “It does.” I turned away so she couldn’t see
the tears welling up in my eyes.
My grandma isn’t perfect. She has
never claimed to be. She isn’t the funniest person I know or the most
understanding. She is so loving. She is so kind. She is generous to a fault. I
love her more than she’ll ever know. I try to tell her how much I love her, but
it is overshadowed by her love for me.
Right now she lives twenty miles
away, and yet I don’t feel like I can reach her. I wish I could have the
grandma back who listens to songs about a prostitute and tried to do everything
for everyone. Instead, I am losing her a little every day. It’s like only
having half of the person I love so dearly and I’m constantly searching for the
other half.
But I am grateful I have as much of
her as I do. I am grateful for everyday she is with me, even if she isn’t the
woman I have always known.
