The phone call was not entirely unexpected - my grandmother was 91 years old and had weathered more in her life than most people her age. She lived through the war and evacuation, through losing both of her parents when she was barely a teenager and losing her husband when they still had many years ahead of them. She went through immigration in her seventies and made a life in a new country with a new language. And through it all, she remained a source of strength for her family until the end.
I don't know any of the details of her passing, she died half a world away from me, but I hope it was peaceful and painless. I know enough to know that she would not have wanted to linger and so from that standpoint, it's a blessing.
My memories of my grandmother center around her role in my life through my childhood and until my family left Soviet Union. I was closer to her than I was to anyone else in my family. I don't remember a time when she didn't figure prominently in my life. I remember myself as a tense, nervy, and anxious child, but my time with my grandmother was my reprieve from the anxieties of regular life. The happiest moments of my childhood center around my grandmother.
I remember going to my grandmother's house, traveling on two trolleys or buses, then walking from the bus stop, feeling my heart thud louder with every step, running as far ahead of my parents as they would let me, and then finally dashing up the final alleyway, bursting through the gate to the little yard before the one-story house and yelling, "Grandma! I came to see you for a million days!" Even when I got older and was allowed to go and visit on my own, I would keep to the same ritual, laughing as I spoke the same words.
I was a sickly child, constantly struggling with colds and various other childhood ailments that caused me to miss many days of preschool and kindergarten. I would spend most of the week at my grandmother's house while my parents worked. I remember going down for a nap in the afternoon on the couch in my grandmother's living room. Above that couch hung a large intricately patterned rug. I would fall asleep on the couch and when I would wake up, before opening my eyes, I would turn toward the wall and then open my eyes. I remember the feeling of hot contentment and happiness that would flood through me as I saw the rug and knew that I was at my grandmother's house.
My grandmother was the sole person who I felt loved me just as I was. I never felt that she wanted me to be better, smarter, more courteous, more accomplished than I already was. Her love truly came with no strings attached. I have never felt as accepted as I did when I was with her. I was no angel, but I never felt inadequate with her. She had the gift of encouraging me to be better without implying that I wasn't good enough already.
Children are innately selfish and I'm sure I was as well. I am sure that I took her love as a given, but I hope that I never took it for granted, I just didn't know of any way of repaying her other than showing her how much I wanted to be with her.
Although my grandmother passed away yesterday, I had truly lost her twenty two years ago when my parents took my brother and me to the United States and my grandmother stayed behind in Moldova. She later immigrated to Israel with my aunt and her family, but we were still an unbridgeable distance apart. The relationship I had with my grandmother was what sustained me through my childhood and losing it was beyond traumatic. I'd like to say that it took me years to recover, but in truth, I'm not sure I ever truly recovered, I think I just learned to accept it.
Ever since my father's phone call, I've had a series of movie clips slowly unfurling in the back of my mind. Long forgotten memories resurfacing... Most memories bringing with them short bursts of the calm contentment that I experienced back when those memories were formed. It's a bittersweet experience because I've never since felt that kind of an overwhelming sense of childish happiness. When we left Soviet Union, I tried to block all thoughts of my time with my grandmother because the pain of losing her was more than I could bear and so I don't think I ever properly grieved for the loss of that closeness. Now when the intervening years had dulled the pain, I can relive the memories and appreciate the happiness they contain without drowning in the grief of their loss.
My grandmother's love and influence have left an indelible imprint on my life and although I've never properly thanked her, I hope that she knew how much she meant to me. I wouldn't be the person I am today if it weren't for her and for that I will be forever thankful.
До свидания, бабушка.
