When I was a very little girl Memere took care of me a lot, and I have so many memories of riding the back roads of the Western foothills, dropping off her Avon deliveries.
"Oh my, I think we're lost!" she'd say.
She knew exactly where she was going. I didn't know that, which made it thrilling. Or maybe I did a tiny bit, and the security of that made it ok to enjoy that "lost" sensation, but either way, I thought it was the greatest game ever. Just Memere and me, getting lost in her boat of a white Chevy, that was my favorite.
Years later, when I was old enough to not be such a baby about my fear of fireworks (to this day I can't tolerate the booms), Memere and I were driving back from one of my aunt's houses, and it was the fourth of July, maybe the day before. We got back into town just as dusk was falling, just as the regional display was getting started. Without any discussion, she pulled over on a hill, turned up the radio, and we sat and watched the light show together in muffled comfort.
"I can't stand that goldurned noise, either," she said.
It was probably true, but how could I know, then or now?
The last time Memere visited me at my house was just last May, and this time I was in the driver's seat, taking her across town to my workplace.
"But you don't walk to work," she said, surveying the route.
"Sometimes, Memere. I'd rather walk or run when the weather's nice, actually."
"No, but you don't!"
"Right! Sure, ok."
In truth, I do not appreciate being bossed. At all. With someone else I might have pulled the car over and walked the rest of the way on principle, or at least pushed back a little, done what I could to convince them it was perfectly safe. But with Memere, I would have said anything to ease her mind, because she didn't need any extra worry-fodder. I realized as I grew up that to be fretted over obsessively by Memere was to be loved by her. It came with the territory, she couldn't help it. You'd think that as the family expanded, it would spread the anxiety around a little. But no, every single one of us got our own special bead of the rosary, and even if we rolled our eyes on the surface, all of Memere's girls and Memere's boys wore it like a badge of honor. We didn't have to worry because she took it on for us. I have to say, the first time my dad came to visit since she died was odd, like something was missing, because she didn't call to make sure he got there OK. I can't imagine how it felt for him.
Memere never worried about us more than when we were traveling. Is it somehow fitting that my strongest memories of the two of us together took place in cars? With so many sharing the care of one woman, I guess these memories stand out because those were my opportunities to have her to myself.
Even since becoming a mother I haven't achieved my grandmother's Olympic level of concern for other people. Sure I worry more than I used to, and that will never go away. But the way that Memere absorbed all of our fears and hurts was her legacy, her protection spell.
I miss my strong and beautiful grandmother. But no more worries, Memere.
A beautiful read :) Sounds like an amazing lady!
Posted by: Chris Rahimi | 11/27/2014 at 04:10 PM
Thank you. She really was, I was so lucky to have her in my life.
Posted by: Dawn | 11/29/2014 at 10:45 AM