I am a horrible granddaughter. This is something I have struggled with for most of my adulthood. Oh, Mo–you shouldn’t feel that way people say. But let me speak (or write, perhaps) because I have something to say on this subject. I have posted more than several posts on my precious Gram. There’s a reason for this–she helped raise me in a sense. She was close by. She was my mom’s mom. She was one of my best friends. I think most people get it.
The flip side–my granddad died when my mom was 10 and Gram never remarried. So, the only “complete” set of grandparents was on my dad’s side. And let me tell you something–I loved the life out of them. I still do. Some of the best memories in childhood are at Disneyland with my grandparents, huddling and oohing and ahhing over the Main Street Electrical Parade and fireworks.
My grandfather and I shared a deep love for singing. My grandmother and I shared a deep love for musicals. She took me to my first one –Carousel– right after Grandpa died in 1987. My first grown-up trip to San Diego. I was 9. She also took me to New York for the first time right before I graduated from high school, on a theater tour. I fell in love with Show Boat, Sunset Boulevard, Miss Saigon and all things Broadway. Don’t be confused–I loved Broadway before that but seeing it in first person made an impression on me that I will never shake.
My grandmother is currently lying in a beautiful room, receiving amazing care, talked about in a positive light by all of us every moment we can. But sadly she does not know us. Every Continue reading