Memories
It is 5am eastern time and I am on a plane heading to Chicago. I will be in the midwest for less than 36 hours but as I took my Uber in, with the rain coming down, I was able to reflect on the reason for this trip.
My grandmother, mother’s mother, passed away last month and today, I make the trip back for her memorial tomorrow morning. Maybe it is strange but there are three things that have stuck with me as I think back on my relationship with my grandmother.
First, her perfume. I could smell her for days after a visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s. It was strong and powerful, but familiar and comforting. I remember getting in the car with her and my grandfather for a drive down to Florida and the scent taking over the car. I pretend I asked to switch cars because the perfume was so powerful… The truth was they asked my parents to take me back because I would not shut up – no surprise to those that know me. While that scent was too much for me as a kid, the last few years when she came to visit and would spritz herself before Christmas Mass, it brought me back to my childhood and the memories of being at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. In all likelihood, the perfume probably changed, but it always smelled the same to me. It was Grandma.
The second, Grandma’s cinnamon and sugar toast. Odd right, f*ing toast is what I remember? I swear she had a magical recipe for the perfect combination of cinnamon and sugar. There was nothing special about the bread, typical WonderBread or whatever was available at the grocery store. It was not handmade or from some fine pastry shop in the neighborhood, just bread. Same with the butter. Nothing coming from a local farm or store, just butter, or margarine – I don’t know the difference. This toast was something I craved and looked forward to when going to my grandparents. Grandma’s cinnamon and sugar toast.
Lastly, and maybe my favorite memory, a specific stop on a road trip at a diner with my grandparents. I believe we were coming from Florida, finishing up a visit with my aunt and uncle down there. As background, I don’t know that I saw my grandparents ever super affectionate with each other. Honestly, as a kid, I probably blocked it out as weird or gross – cooties where a real threat back then. But this particular diner, this particular trip, my grandfather leaned over and kissed my grandmother, whispering a flirtatious comment. The look he had in his eyes towards her and the way she giggled after, it was such pure love and admiration for one another. I mean how many years of marriage, kids, grandkids… It was the way she reacted to that look and comment from him, blushing and madly in love with him. I had never seen such raw, genuine emotion – it is and will forever be embedded in my brain. This is the love I strive for – that raw, genuine love and ability make me giggle like a schoolgirl with a wink or smile after years of being with my person.
I tell these two stories not because these memories are elaborate trips or moments in time. They are, by any account, fairly routine and insignificant moments. Especially the toast, I mean I have had a million pieces of toast! The reason for writing this is to make us stop, slow down and consider the idea of making more memories like these. The small, what some may think insignificant moments in time, but those memories that stick with us, painted on our brains. For me, these memories mean so much more than an elaborate trip or incredible gift. And just to clarify, I am not saying those memories are not significant. I have some amazing stories and memories from those elaborate moments too. But what I think about when I think family and home are not those things, it is the toast, the looks of love.
I charge you to not only hug a loved one but to make memories like this with them. Cherish your time, even the lazy days on the couch or the days curled up in the living room watching a movie together, having your routine game night.
In a world so quickly moving forward, to the next bigger, better thing – we forget the little memories. Those memories that may be more impactful and significant in who we are and why we wake up each morning.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF GRANDMA, MARTHA DEMING.
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