I Am [Thelma's] Granddaughter

My sweet, sweet grandmother passed away last night, although she left us a long time ago. The last time I had a somewhat lucid conversation with her was about four years ago. It went something like this.

Gig (that's what we call her): How old are you?
JW: I'm 29.
Gig: And you never married?
JW [laughing]: No, Gig. I'm not married.
Gig [with spunk]: Well, you do OK, don't you?

My grandmother lived her life for other people. Long before she was anyone's grandmother she worked very hard keeping house for her uncles and caring for her siblings. She taught my mom that if you cleaned a faucet with cold water, it wouldn't leave spots. You should try it. Her husband battled cancer for many years, during which time she was completely invested in him. After he died, my grandmother got her teeth fixed and her hearing aids. Finally, reluctantly, she allowed someone to care for her.

Cooking was not her forte--she used to make us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with margarine on them. But she could eat anyone under the table. As a petite woman in her 80's, we would take her to Sunday dinner and watch, jaws-to-the-floor, as she put down her meal. During the summer, while my parents were on vacation, I used to take Gig for Sunday dinner by myself. It was such a grown-up thing for me to do and I am so thankful I got to care, in a tiny way, for one who had always treasured me.

When we were kids and would go visit her and my grandfather on Sundays, she would always make sure we took our "pay" from the top of the console TV in the living room. I don't know many kids whose allowances were supplemented by their grandparents, but mine was. She used to take us walking on Kensington Avenue. We would buy soft pretzels from the man at K&A, and she was with me when I bought a Cabbage Patch Kid at the Woolworth's using the Christmas money she and my grandfather had probably given me. When our family would go on vacation, we left our cat Bizzy with her and she would follow him around with a flashlight. She read the Sunday Inquirer from cover to cover and watched the proceedings on her street like a hawk. Gig always hated the weather, be it cold, hot, or a sunny 72 degrees.

There are many little memories of her; but the biggest memory, the one I must not lose, is the memory of how selfless she was. I've seen her selfless love carried on by my dad and by my aunt, who has cared for Gig for many years. I hope it doesn't skip my generation.