This is another superb piece of writing. There's only one sentence that deserves to die. The only rational approach to life is to cheat like mad at solitaire. We do solitaire as recreation— anything that can increase the pleasure/endorphins of winning is the only rational choice. Not cheating at solitaire is equivalent to absurd asceticisms, such as sprinkling sand in your soup to make it unappetizing. As you point out repeatedly in this post, your grandma turned away from pleasure over and over again in the interests of service to you.
I have stepped away from the former Certitude Of Things I used to have in my evangelical life but I’m pretty sure that Love is still at the heart of the Universe, and I look forward to stepping (or sliding or falling) into what is beyond. I’m sure your grandmother is warm. Peace.
Your writing and your grandmother- are quite exceptional. I don’t have the words like you do to describe…. But this was such a worthy piece for your grandmother, your family and you. Again, the way you write … about life… the real parts. So good.
I hope you have a daughter someday. Your mom sounds not wholly unlike mine, just much “worse” in terms of the extent of the destruction she’d accept as a necessary consequence of her needing to be free. Who can understand it? It seems obvious they were victims in a real sense, but long ago / at the start, before behavior so unforgivable that it masks it to all but us.
I don’t hate my mom. I still love her despite it all. And maybe this is terrible but I just sort of learned to emotionally separate myself from her because I didn’t want my children mixed up in it. That’s a cruel thing, maybe, but it’s still the best thing I can think to do. I do think she’s a victim of something that has a hold of her and I wish I knew how to help. I tried for a long while but could never figure it out. Sometimes she’d be fine. She wasn’t ever great but then that storm would come and you’d just be hanging on for dear life.
I did actually think of you while writing this one this morning. It’s a weird thing to write stuff that creates a “sort of” intimacy and I think when it touches on personal stuff it’s even offensive. That last part about how love just grows inevitably I added after I read your piece yesterday. I’ve always felt love is a “well, you’re part of me now whether we want it or not” thing. And I know you probably react to this like a cat being given a bath, but I do think you’re a good dude. You should be proud of yourself and what you have and what you’ve done. I don’t know you intimately, but I wonder how much of our own intimate thoughts are vanity. I think the guy on the outside who built all of this will show us all that in the end. We’re not infinite but we can be good and it’s not fooling ourselves to try.
Behold! An excellent story, very moving. Very intimate. Thank you for sharing. Your attention to detail and evocation of life moments is masterful.
It is clear from much of modern attestation that a daughter with two older brothers is often a little firebrand and almost always the favorite of the Dad.
I am so moved by this piece. It is so well-written that I feel like I know your grandma. The stories you chose to tell reveal her character and how she shaped yours. I can relate to how it was at the end of her life. It doesn’t diminish the bond and her indelible imprint on your life. Thank you.
Writing talent aside(which you have in spades) storytelling aside(captivating barely touches it) this hit me in the feels so hard! Partially because I had that family, mostly because I had that grandmother and let her go in much the same way. But mostly because I am now that grandmother, and what you articulated so well hit me in the feels in all the right places. Thank you!
I guess her brother got it for her. I need to call my aunt and see if she remembers who got it. I’ve seen close butter knives but never one that exactly hit the mark. If I was ever in the film “Inception” that butter knife would be my anchor.
This is another superb piece of writing. There's only one sentence that deserves to die. The only rational approach to life is to cheat like mad at solitaire. We do solitaire as recreation— anything that can increase the pleasure/endorphins of winning is the only rational choice. Not cheating at solitaire is equivalent to absurd asceticisms, such as sprinkling sand in your soup to make it unappetizing. As you point out repeatedly in this post, your grandma turned away from pleasure over and over again in the interests of service to you.
Thanks Kathleen. That was my artful way of saying she had no real flaws.
As I have shown, cheating at solitary is a positive virtue.
True
A beautiful tribute to an amazing grandma.
Thanks Latigodad.
I bawled.
Man, I usually separate myself pretty well and it’s only “real” while writing it but this one got under the armor.
I have stepped away from the former Certitude Of Things I used to have in my evangelical life but I’m pretty sure that Love is still at the heart of the Universe, and I look forward to stepping (or sliding or falling) into what is beyond. I’m sure your grandmother is warm. Peace.
PS - Thank you again for a great bit of writing.
Thanks Robert. If anyone made it, she did.
Your writing and your grandmother- are quite exceptional. I don’t have the words like you do to describe…. But this was such a worthy piece for your grandmother, your family and you. Again, the way you write … about life… the real parts. So good.
Thank you, Vicki.
Wow, talk about an unexpected gut punch. Did not expect I'd end up crying like this. Well done.
Yeah it hit me hard this morning and usually I’m pretty good at “well, but I’m older now and it’s fine.”
This was the perfect thing to read on a cold, windy day while snuggled up under a blanket with my cat💕
That’s what I was hoping for. May all your bricks be warm.
I hope you have a daughter someday. Your mom sounds not wholly unlike mine, just much “worse” in terms of the extent of the destruction she’d accept as a necessary consequence of her needing to be free. Who can understand it? It seems obvious they were victims in a real sense, but long ago / at the start, before behavior so unforgivable that it masks it to all but us.
I don’t hate my mom. I still love her despite it all. And maybe this is terrible but I just sort of learned to emotionally separate myself from her because I didn’t want my children mixed up in it. That’s a cruel thing, maybe, but it’s still the best thing I can think to do. I do think she’s a victim of something that has a hold of her and I wish I knew how to help. I tried for a long while but could never figure it out. Sometimes she’d be fine. She wasn’t ever great but then that storm would come and you’d just be hanging on for dear life.
I did actually think of you while writing this one this morning. It’s a weird thing to write stuff that creates a “sort of” intimacy and I think when it touches on personal stuff it’s even offensive. That last part about how love just grows inevitably I added after I read your piece yesterday. I’ve always felt love is a “well, you’re part of me now whether we want it or not” thing. And I know you probably react to this like a cat being given a bath, but I do think you’re a good dude. You should be proud of yourself and what you have and what you’ve done. I don’t know you intimately, but I wonder how much of our own intimate thoughts are vanity. I think the guy on the outside who built all of this will show us all that in the end. We’re not infinite but we can be good and it’s not fooling ourselves to try.
Behold! An excellent story, very moving. Very intimate. Thank you for sharing. Your attention to detail and evocation of life moments is masterful.
It is clear from much of modern attestation that a daughter with two older brothers is often a little firebrand and almost always the favorite of the Dad.
Man, I hope so.
I am so moved by this piece. It is so well-written that I feel like I know your grandma. The stories you chose to tell reveal her character and how she shaped yours. I can relate to how it was at the end of her life. It doesn’t diminish the bond and her indelible imprint on your life. Thank you.
Yeah I loved her a lot and wish I had taken some more agency there. She would definitely have preferred to die at my house, even if that’s morbid.
This is an incredible piece of writing. Thank you for sharing this story.
Thanks Tiffany! I see you write as well. Any of your stuff I should check out?
If you're interested, I write a lot about grief, motherhood, and identity. These are three of my personal favourites: https://www.tiffanychu.org/p/home-in-the-spaces-between
https://www.tiffanychu.org/p/inheritance-of-silence-tears-repression-motherhood
https://www.tiffanychu.org/p/7-moments-family-cancer-battle. Thanks for asking.
I'll be reading more of your work. This one was stunning.
wow, just wow. Thanks
Thanks Kay
So beautiful.
Thanks Betsy
I’m going through something like this not as bad as what you went through. Thank you!
We all have our own roads and I wish you luck on yours.
Writing talent aside(which you have in spades) storytelling aside(captivating barely touches it) this hit me in the feels so hard! Partially because I had that family, mostly because I had that grandmother and let her go in much the same way. But mostly because I am now that grandmother, and what you articulated so well hit me in the feels in all the right places. Thank you!
I am glad this related and I’m glad for your grandchildren that they have you.
Amen sister.
It was barely coherent, that comment. I was ugly snot crying!
I usually separate myself pretty well but this one got me snot crying too.
I would send this to you if I could.
https://www.etsy.com/listing/1684383154/acorn-by-georg-jensen-5-78-butter
The pattern is called acorn. He was a Danish silversmith so a little off the mark.
I guess her brother got it for her. I need to call my aunt and see if she remembers who got it. I’ve seen close butter knives but never one that exactly hit the mark. If I was ever in the film “Inception” that butter knife would be my anchor.