keep me in your heart for a while

When my brother was born, my parents asked my Dad's mother what she wanted to be called. Nana, Grandma, Gramps -- the choice was hers. She decided she was much too young (50) for any of these names, and he and all future grandchildren could call her 'G.'

Whenever I got in trouble and was mad at my parents for yelling at me, I'd tell my parents (lisp and all), "I'm going to live with G becauthe she loves me.'

I went away with her just about every summer until I was 13 or so. Florida, Oklahoma, Texas, just staying at her place on Long Island -- anything I wanted to do we would do. I was five when she asked if I wanted to go to Florida to see 'GG' (her mother), and I immediately said 'yeth,' ran off, and returned 5 minutes later with a fully packed suitcase.

Whenever she traveled to far away lands (China! Egypt! Japan! Italy!), she returned with souveniers for us, and they fascinated us. I remember being obsessed with a blue scarab she brought back for me from Egypt. It was shiny and just this incredibly bright blue. I fawned over it constantly, and kept it in my pocket for months.

We were in Montauk for a long weekend once and I found a conch (living, though I did not know it at the time) on the beach. She allowed me to take it in the car all the way home to upstate NY, where it was determined it was not a good idea for it to be away from the ocean. The smell was terrible. But for a boy who had recently read Lord of the Flies, this was golden!!

As I got older, I saw less and less of G. Whenever she visited she would come to whatever event my brother or I had going on -- track meets or graduation, she was there, and she was beaming. She loved that she was involved in our lives, and treasured all the photos she could go home with to boast about us to her friends. When I was hired at my current place of employment, she told all her friends immediately. Her grandson was working at ____ and loved it, and isn't that terrific?
It was hard to find a bigger cheerleader of my life than G.

And she was always giving -- she always asked if I ever needed anything. She would occasionally send Omaha steaks to make sure I had good meat to eat, and I never had to ask for anything. I said no many times, because I did not need many things and was doing alright supporting myself.
She loved to give, and I never truly realized the pleasure it brought her to give to myself, my brother, and my cousin until a few days ago.

G moved to Texas on her own about ten years ago. At first she was lonely, but then she began volunteering for various organizations. Ronald McDonald House, the Dallas Zoo, the botanical garden, other animal societies -- she did it all, and she loved every minute of it. She was busy from morning to night, and she loved it. I saw her calendar Saturday night, and every page of it was full. There was no stopping her from being as active as she loved.

When I left home, I still called G every few weeks to update her on my life and see how she was doing. And every time I called, she would tell my parents everything I told her, because she was that happy she knew what and how I was doing. And every story I told, she had one that not only compared, but was better. If I went to Vegas once, she was there five times. If I was going on a road trip for a week, she was traveling the midwest for two months. If I was going to Amsterdam, she had done all of Europe.

The family used to joke that G could talk a lot. She could go non-stop, story leading into tangent to another tangent back to the first story to more tangents and so on and so forth. And there was no stopping her once she got going. No way, no how. You had to wait until the entire epic was complete.

G had a heart attack last Wednesday and a friend brought her to the hospital. She called my Dad afterwards to tell him. My Mom called me Thursday to tell me, and to say they did not know exactly how severe it was or what was going on. My Mom gave me the hospital room contact info, but I could not get through and left a message on G's voicemail of her cell. I spoke to my Mom again Friday, and she said they were flying out that day and the doctor had told my Dad the family should be there. All three of G's children, and all three grandchildren were there by Saturday, and we were all in one room for the first time in about 7 years. And she loved it. And that day was great. She was grinning ear to ear when I walked in, and said 'my baby' when I walked over to her bedside to kiss her hello. With the arrival of my brother and I, the entire family was now completely in that one little room.

I would find out later that night G's condition was deteriorating, and she was not out of the woods yet. The best we could do was hope, and for those of us with the inclination, to pray.

Most of the family was by her side the next day when it finally happened. I don't know many people who have a heart attack that kills 20% of the heart and then live another four days, but G is one of them. She was not going to leave us without having the entire family together one last time, and she was determined to get what she wanted. The epic of her life was not complete, and there was no way anyone was writing that last page other than her.






To G, who lived more in 77 years than anyone I will ever know.