What’s the use of complaining?
“What’s the use of complaining?”
That’s what you always said when I called to check on you. Even when I knew your body was tired, even when I could hear the pain in your voice, you said it like it was the only answer worth giving. “What’s the use of complaining?” And somehow, in that one sentence, you taught me more about strength than I could have learned in a lifetime of books. You didn’t pretend things were easy. You just chose to keep going anyway.
Even in those last days you never complained. When the air was too thin, or the room was too hot. You just asked for a comfort adjustment which I was always happy to oblige. When you were told that you needed to wear the life vest to continue your days, you said ok, “order the life vest now so I can leave this hospital and go home.”
I should have stayed longer, spoke louder, said more. We were both processing what we knew was the end of our time together on this side of the earth. One thing is for sure, no one can say I didn’t do what I said I would. No one can say I didn’t take care of you. As promised, when the time came, I came to be at your side right to the end.
I’m rolling into two months since you transitioned. That’s two months of me wanting to call and ask you something for nothing. Me wanting to call for the tea as if you’re bearing witness to the shitshow you predicted. Your children are living out what you envisioned. The lies, bickering and lies…if it wasn’t predicted would be comical and I stay grounded in what you told me. “Once my two eyes are shut, all of this won’t make me no never mind.” That’s what brings me peace. You aren’t here to watch the bullshit.
I wish I would’ve told you exactly how much you mean to me. You were the one constant in my life. While always delivering the measuring guidance of a parent with the unmistakable unconditional love of a grandparent. You always told me like it was, if I was wrong you would be the one to tell me I was wrong and if they were wrong you would tell me that they were wrong. I knew the loss of you would be great and I’m not sure I’ll ever really know as each time a new wave of grief hits I pause, cry, reflect and try to move through it. You were my constant and that I will miss.
The stories we shared are my treasured gifts from you. Hearing you tell me how you came to be, how we came to be, are my reminders, my guidepost. I often think about how you found your way back to your family at 16 after being handed over to missionaries, “the friends”, as you call them, at just three months old. That story is unbelievable and if I hadn’t heard it right from you and your sister I don’t think I ever would.
Or the story that I got to watch come full circle, bringing you back in touch with a man you helped raise. I mean I always heard the stories as a child how you helped raise politicians but to hear it from the recipients of your love. I am not going to lie, hearing him say how much he loved your chocolate chip cookies made me wonder why you never made us cookies. I chalked it up to chocolate chip cookies not being Coolie food.
One of my favorite stories is around my dad marrying my mom and two things; how much grandpa didn’t want it to happen and how you whooped my dad on his wedding day. First off grandpa was right-that family is trash. Second off…good for you. Third those two are either the perfect miserable fit or the worst couple on the planet. Either way they deserve the paths they are walking.
As I sit here watching the sunset writing this tribute to you, this memory piece, to process some of this grief that now lives within me - I am glad I recorded your stories. I wish I had recorded more. I miss you grandma.
