Grandma Deon

When my grandmother passed away I was sleeping peacefully in my cousin's apartment in Brooklyn, NY. My mom had told me the night before that we may loose her that evening, but, no matter how prepped I was, hearing the words from my mother the next morning was gut-wrenching.

My grandma lived a wonderful life and I was very close to her. She and my grandfather traveled frequently to Sun Valley when my mother and I were living there, and when we moved to Salt Lake we lived with them for five years while my mother attended graduate school. She was the kind of grandmother who my peers mistook for my mom because she always wore bright lipstick (though not garish at all), skirt suits, and high heels.

In thinking about her death over the last week or so, I have come to realize that, for me, the hardest part of losing someone is that the memory has this pesky habit of blurring images from our past. Without her here, I worry that what she has meant to me and my memory of her will become clouded. So, I have decided to make a list of the things I promise to remember about my grandmother.

I promise to remember: the way she laughed; the way her house always smelled of toast; the way she sang random little songs as she would putter around the house ("I got a horse right here, his name is Paul Revere..."); the way she would go through all of her granddaughters' names when she was calling after one of us as we would tear through her house during the summer ("Emmy, Blair, MEGGY!"); and, the way Gina and I would always duck her kisses before school in the morning as not to get lipstick on our cheeks.

I promise to remember all of the little tricks that she taught me: sandwiches look fancier when you cut them diagonally; if you trim the top of a potato chip bag, people don't dig their grubby little hands all around inside and less germs are spread; if you clean out the sides of a half-full jar of mayo with a paper towel before putting it in the fridge it lasts longer; if you hand iron things right out of the dryer before folding, you often don't need to iron at all; and, chewing a half stick of gum makes you seem daintier.

I promise to remember: a quick curl of the hair and some lipstick make you look put together even if you're in sweats.

I promise to remember: even though us Hulberts have big calves, high heels look rockin' on us.

I promise to remember: how much she loved my grandfather and mother (and all her children) and to love my family with the same dedication.

I promise to remember: to stand up straight, cross my legs at the ankle when I am wearing a skirt, and brush my teeth before going out.

I promise to remember: how, after Alzheimer's had clouded her memory, she looked at my son and exclaimed, "Well look at him!"

This little list may seem a touch trite, but sometimes it's the little things that force my grandmother's memory into full view for me. Of course, she instilled in me the importance of kindness, love, and empathy,too. If I am able to affect my children and grandchildren half as much as she did me, I will consider myself a great success.

xoxoxo Grandma.