Dichotomy . . .

Plumes of smoke, exhaled from drags off of her cigarette, mingled with wafts of White Shoulders, Granny’s signature perfume. Mom’s grandma wore heavy, dark rimmed glasses and a short-cropped, curly, red wig. She spoke with cryptic tongue and advocated progressive opinions. Granny was a larger than life personality. ​

Her visits incited frenzied responses from my mother who’d scurry about our house in preparation for Granny’s arrival. During one of mom’s flurries, she informed me that, at the cost of family relations, Granny betrayed with her sister’s husband, that for a price, men paid for the ‘pleasure’ of Granny’s company and that Granny pushed further against social norms by conceiving a little girl out of wedlock with a man of a different ethnicity.

Granny eventually settled down with a quiet Italian. And Gramps adored her, or so all of his catering to her demands appeared to my child’s mind. Like Gramps, I too accommodated and interfaced shyly with life . . . and Granny doted on me. She was my advocate when I grappled at knowing how to stand up for myself.

I’d often puzzle over the contrast between Granny’s fierceness with others and her gentleness toward me. The colored choices of her past did not seem to align with her protectiveness of and vulnerability with me. I felt timid toward Granny and yet I trusted her. I loved Granny, I admired her strength and I appreciated the soft areas of her heart that she entrusted to me.

Granny’s daughter was beautiful. She had wavy, jet black hair and a milk chocolate skin tone that I wished I'd inherited. She was soft spoken and frighteningly stern. Mom warned my sister and me, when leaving us with grandma, of her mom’s harsh discipline. I’ve memories of Jen falling into grandma's hands. Somehow I escaped her indignation.
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When I was in the fifth grade, grandma reached out to me and Jen. She brought gifts and she also offered to us the benefit of some of her life experience. Though grandma had only completed an eighth grade education, learning was her life long ambition. And she advised us that listening was a key toward her garnering knowledge. Somehow I understood that what she shared held value and I’ve carried her wise words with me these many years. ​

I do not have many more memories of grandma after this unique visit. Before I moved to Alaska, we met for a five generation photo after my oldest was born. Later I heard grandma slipped into depression, took to her bed and died in a hopeless state of mind. Though a difficult person to know, I appreciated when she allowed me small glimpses.

Picnic and play with grandma

Grandma, dad’s mom, gave me this necklace when I was a little girl. My parents were in the midst of divorce and not long after their severing, I’d not see grandma again for many years. The necklace carries a mustard seed on the inside and printed on the back is the scripture: 
       “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed nothing shall be impossible unto you.” 
                                                                                                                                                     Matthew 17:20

Somehow I’ve managed to keep my grandmother’s gift for more than 50 years. This out-of-vogue piece of jewelry is more than a trinket from a woman long since dead. It is a beautiful reminder of a gentle love for a little girl, of a concern for a little girl’s future and of a legacy of Light that helped compass a little girl through many dark days yet ahead of her.

I recall snuggling next to grandma during church services. I’d quietly entertain myself scribbling in notebooks or on the church bulletin or I’d look through my picture bible during the pastor’s oration. If I’d get squirmy, grandma’d smile and provide me with something to occupy my hands and mind; often candy was a part of this distraction. After church, our family members gathered at someone’s home or at a restaurant and I’d frequently sit next to grandma.

A gentle, talkative nurturer, grandma told silly stories and shared her philosophy on life. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” she patiently advised Jen who struggled to decide on her breakfast options. She also encouraged independence. She’d give me and Jen coins to buy candy at a nearby convenience store. Before our journey, she admonished we stay aware of our surroundings and the reasons for such vigilance. Then Jen and I'd set off. Grandma’d wave to us from the living room window and there she’d stay watchful over our bold adventure until we walked back through her door. ​

Without a doubt in my mind, grandma loved me! She enjoyed my company and my childish prattle and my little girl perspective on life. She looked out for my best interest in spite of the confines placed on her, and on the family, by my parents inability to coparent. She provided me with a spiritual heritage that stays me to this day. I carry her sweetness in my heart. I cherish her memory.

Though dichotomies apart, these women invested of themselves, in their own unique ways, into my life and their offerings were not a waste of their efforts. As a child, my appreciation for them was short sighted. As an adult, slogging my way through life experiences that sometimes set me sideways or even knock me to my knees, gratitude for my grandmothers is robust for I understand the complexities of their gloriously messy journeys through seasoned eyes and grace.
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Now, I deposit of my heart into my own grandkiddo’s lives. Though there are thousands of miles separating me from my youngest grand, I daily hold her in my thoughts, daily I pray for my little cherub. My grandchildren may not recognize the challenges or the sacrifices or the budget of time and funds or the depth of love and care and concern that I face and put forth for their very best. But in time, life experiences will develop an understanding, a knowing and they will reflect and glean and garner what their heart’s need from my love.​

Heritage is not something we choose. Lineage is bestowed without bias. And for many of us we inherit a gloriously messy birthright. But if we develop the art of extracting the precious from the worthless, we are then better equipped to forgive and even embrace our legacy and we can set forth into our future unencumbered by the past.