Grandma and Grandpa's House: Silliness and Young Love

Grandma's dry-heaving was sadly entertaining. We had heard the stories of how our uncles would tease her, making her gag. There was usually a booger involved or talk of one. Grandma couldn't handle that subject. Just the mention of one was Grandma's nightmare. She would immediately start to retch. Now, to describe Grandma's retching...It was much more than you would imagine. She would not only make the sound and movement of vomiting, but her whole body would be taken over by it, repeatedly jerking forward and upward. And while she was doing this 'vomit dance', she would start whooping. I have no idea why she whooped. She just did. Her whooping would start to come out faster, louder, and higher.

My first experience with this was when we were eating hamburgers for dinner. They were delicious; so, Grandma asked Grandpa where he bought the meat from.

"I got them from the booger shop," replied Grandpa, giggling.

"Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!!! Dennis! Whoop! You know better!! Whoop! Whoop!"

It was amazing how quickly Grandma's brain would shut off when she got tired. Her bedtime was at 8:00 PM. By 8:03 PM, she couldn't speak without stuttering on words or completely saying the wrong thing. One night, when we were getting ready for bed, she tried to quiet us down so that she could read us our nightly story.

"Girls! You need to be quiet before I can fart the....I mean start the story!"

We burst out laughing and she tried to battle against it, but she couldn't. She started to smile, her eyes wrinkling in the corners, and then giggle and then we were all crying from laughing so hard. We howled and groaned as we held our sore stomachs. We would find out later that she also told one of her students to, 'fart here'. Though she kept a straight face and didn't laugh then, she randomly laughed in the middle of her very next lesson while thinking about her previous blunder.

Grandma knew everything. She was this book that you could open and read. She knew something about every subject. She was also full of ideas and dreams. I loved reading her. She was there for my first church talk and my second and third. She was there for my school presentations and speeches. If she didn't know much about a subject, she would spend the day researching and learning. She would then come back, show me all of her sources, and teach me.

Grandma loved romance. She loved reading about it and watching it in movies. Grandma rarely let me see her room. It was crowded, piles and shelves of books, binders, and papers everywhere. Her room looked like something you would see in an episode of Hoarders. I don't know how she slept in there, because I couldn't even breathe. She had music everywhere and papers with her scribbles. She wrote notes on everything. There were receipts with her notes on them, notes about students, music, and religious topics. And then, smack in the middle of this mess was her bed. She dusted off the top of one of her shelves and handed me some books. One said, Harlequin Romance, at the top and then the title: A Girl Named Rose. This was the first of many Harlequin Romance books that I read. I almost always read Betty Neels' books, because Grandma and I preferred her writing. Hers was more old-fashioned, the kind where they finally kiss at the end after they get engaged. Betty Neels had a very similar story for each of her books. There was almost always a plain and quiet nurse who worked for a handsome but intimidating and sometimes rude Dutch doctor. They were always Dutch. They often had long and complicated names that I couldn't pronounce: Sybren Werdmer Ter Sane, Fulk Van Hensum, Coenraad Van Essen, and Gerard Van Doorninck. I loved them despite their simple layout and I read them often.

She showed me her movie collection. She had boxes full of tapes that she had recorded them on. Each movie had multiple movie titles scribbled on the front. She had hundreds and could describe them in detail when I would ask what a certain one was about. I fell in love. I loved the classic romances of the 1920's-1960's. I fell in love with Jimmy Stewart, Lawrence Olivier, Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, Fred Astaire, Rock Hudson, and James Dean. We suffered through Gene Kelly's bad acting to witness his perfect dancing. We sang alongside Judy Garland and pretended to dance like Ann Miller. We wanted the comic timing of Doris Day and the witty attitude of Katharine Hepburn. We loved watching Vivien Leigh, Maureen O'Hara, Greer Garson, Olivia de Havilland, Jean Arthur, Joan Fontaine, Cyd Charisse, Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, and Jane Powell on the screen of Grandma's small TV.

We memorized their songs and lines. She watched me as I practiced walking gracefully. We had tea parties where we talked like ladies. It was so fun! Some of our favorite movies to watch: The Harvey Girls, His Girl Friday, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers, Meet Me In St. Louis, Gone With The Wind, Singin' In The Rain, An Affair to Remember, The Pirate, That Hagen Girl, Gigi, Pillow Talk, The African Queen, Roman Holiday, To Catch a Thief, How to Steal a Million, The Philadelphia Story, The Quiet Man, Easter Parade, You Can't Take It With You, How to Marry a Millionaire, Brigadoon, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer, Some Like It Hot, Charade...

My two favorites that Grandma showed me have to be Tammy and the Bachelor and Margie. They're both similar, sweet and funny. Tammy is about a simple and naive girl (Debbie Reynolds) who falls in love with a refined man who doesn't notice her at first. Margie is about a bright but odd high school girl (Jeanne Crain) who has a crush on her French teacher and one of her popular peers. She also has constant trouble with her pantaloons. I loved watching these two with Grandma. We would giggle and re-watch scenes just to giggle some more.

My Thoughts

It seems weird that I was watching Grey’s Anatomy, because I dislike the show with a passion; but, I was watching it. The most recent show that premiered on the 5th (of January) made me think of her. On their way to a birthday celebration, a family that consisted of a grandfather, father, mother, son, and two daughters were in a car crash, a fatal crash for most of them. The eldest daughter watched her grandfather die on sight and her mother die in the hospital while gasping for air, blood dripping from her body. The daughter, both the other siblings safe and secure in a nearby room, went to see her father; he was not doing well. Hours passed as she watched his heartbeat move from irregular back to regular, back to irregular. He could not breathe on his own, and was constantly revived by the doctors as he began to lose the battle between life and death. She watched as he received defibrillation on two occasions after they had tried to move the breathing tube from his body. Finally, on the third defibrillation, she asked what they could do, what extraordinary measures they could take to fix him, to heal him from this near-death life. His doctor replied that they have taken all of those measures already; he will not live without the breathing tube. She repeated the doctor’s words aloud and paused.
“We will take off his breathing tube,” was her reply. The doctor looked taken back, not sure what this child was thinking. The doctor started to say that as a child to her father, the girl could not make that kind of a decision only to be interrupted by, “I am not a child anymore. I am an adult. I am 18 and have been for the last 4 hours; for the last 6 hours, I have seen my father suffer. I have seen him on the edge of death and I will not let him live like this. You will take the breathing tube off and if he lives, he lives. If he dies, at least he isn’t suffering anymore.” The doctor nods.
The next scene consists of a signing of papers, movement of the body to a more private area, and a silent interaction where the sister hugs her siblings while crying. Then, it flashes to the doctor, standing over the father’s body, unplugging chords, the daughter behind, her arms crossed. She asks what will happen next.
“His heart rate will slow as will his breathing. At some point, an alarm will start to beep, but I will turn it off, and then his breathing will completely stop and his heart rate will flatten on the screen here.” The girl glances quickly at the doctor and then back down to her father. She is left alone in the room with her father, waiting. In the background, Skin by Zola Jesus plays as the soundtrack. The song starts with pure instrumental; a piano, pounding chords. It is raw sounding as if it has been recorded by amateurs. A woman’s voice begins to sing with an ethereal background of singers harmonize.
“Safety net, don’t hold me now. In this love, I’ve fallen down. Secret home, I made and found. And you wait to breathe.” The daughter begins to shake with sobs as the song continues. “I’ve had enough. And in the sickness, you have faith. And in the thickness, you find me. Finally.” This is my new favorite song.
The girl stares at her father. You can see the heart rate going down in number. I found myself counting down. I thought of my grandmother. Unfortunately, I was not present for her last moments. I still wish I had been there. On that day, I had listened to an unexpected voicemail after my volleyball practice. I missed saying goodbye by 2 hours. I missed saying goodbye to this enchanting woman who is now remembered so dearly in my heart.
As the beeping gets louder for a dramatic ending, my attention reverts back to the screen. Part of me wants him to wake up, to look at her, to breathe. I want some miracle to occur. But, his eyes remain closed, his breath still numbered. I have heard that when the breathing tube was first removed from grandma’s mouth, that she had a disappointed and surprised look for a moment. No miracle of sudden breath was happening. This was the end of her earthly journey.
I am so thankful that my grandma was surrounded by friends and family at the end. She was surrounded by singing and smiles and tears and laughter. I miss laughing with her. I miss her tight hugs. I miss her organization. I miss her disorganization. I miss her muddled words passed 8 o’clock. I miss her quoting the scriptures. I miss her crackly, morning soprano. I miss her scolding. I miss her forgiveness. I feel such a closeness to her while the scene darkens.
Sending kisses up to you. I hope you get them soon. Maybe you got them now. I am surrounded in your love.