Grace

How can I begin to tell you all the ways you’ve changed my life for the better? Self-doubt surrounds every thought I have of you. There's just so much shame—for my poor life choices and all the ways I let you down. Will there ever be a way I can say thank you without the suffocating sorrow I feel at my own ineptitude?  

Without your compassionate eyes and gentle smile, I would never have known that unconditional love was possible. You taught me what family could be, what it should be. Without you, I would have been a diaper-clad toddler, unsupervised in a sea of empty green glass beer bottles while my dad was passed out on the sofa. Instead, I was giggling in the sun as I played in the dirt while you did your gardening.  

Every mediocre milestone I reached; you celebrated as if I were the most talented child on earth. “Oh, my goodness, Ashley! How wonderful,” you would exclaim after every report card. You saw the emptiness in me, the unyielding need for praise I didn’t get elsewhere, and you made sure I knew that I mattered to you.  

Year after year, you provided me with an emotional shelter, a safe person to confide in who would never cast me aside. When I wanted a yellow pogo stick like the kids on TV had, you made sure the next time I visited, there was a yellow pogo stick with a big red bow on the handle. I didn't meet the weight requirement to make that pogo stick work, but you held me steady for the better part of a year until I could manage it on my own. That pogo stick is a metaphor for everything you did for me, holding me stable until I could balance on my own—always kind, never judging me, or cutting me down with snide remarks or hurtful jokes.  

The kids at school called me a freak, weird, and ugly, but I could forget them all because I had you loving me exactly as I am. To you, I was the most beautiful and smart little girl in the world; I was perfect. The way I always believed you when you praised me is something I never had anywhere else. Other people would say something nice, but it felt dirty, like the duplicitous start of an insult. Your sincerity and authenticity have always been unwavering.  

You taught me patience, something I've never had enough of. Spending long hours with you in the kitchen baking bread, lemon bars, and sugar cookies forced me to sit and wait for the treats to bake. It couldn’t be rushed, or it would come out undercooked. Some days, you even let me pull out the treats too soon so I could see firsthand they were not done yet, and understand why it’s so critical to give things the time they need to be done right.  

Lesson after lesson, I have you to thank. I learned so much from you that decades later, I am still discovering new ways you empowered me to be who I am today. Some of the hardest lessons still shake me, twenty years later. When you caught me smoking cigarettes as a high schooler, the look of disdain, disappointment, and sorrow on your face is etched into my memory. I knew you lost your husband to lung cancer from smoking, and yet I had the hubris to think you didn’t know what I was doing. Shame cannot scratch the surface of the emotional pain I feel for putting you through that.  

You were the only one who knew I was secretly in pain when I was eighteen. In the letter you wrote to me, you said I didn't sound happy over the phone and you told me to come home. Everyone else was so mad at me for leaving to another state; they didn't see that I was in pain. Nobody cared more about me than they cared for their own hurt feelings, except for you.  

Sending me money when I was obviously compromised was irrational, but you did it anyway. Even at the worst point in my life, you loved me beyond logic, wanting me to have food and comfort even when it was beyond reason. When I ran away from him, I ran to you, Grandma. I ran away because you still loved me even if I made all those mistakes. Even if I hurt you with my dumb choices, you loved me anyway.  

Even when I became a teenage mom, you didn't give up on me. You paid for my college so that the baby and I could have a better future. Grandma, I got that math degree! I’m so sorry it took me so long to get that damn four-year degree. I’m so sorry that I had to get clean from drugs before I graduated, and I’m so sorry that you passed away before I did. I wish you were here today to see that I turned things around.  

Grandma, I worked so hard. You would be so proud of me; I got a really good job. Okay, the job wasn’t so good at first. My first boss was a real jerk. You would have called him a ‘pig’ of a man. Remembering how you would look to the side and mutter under your breath, “that man was a real PIG!” like you were saying a bad word still makes me smile. But I did work really hard, no matter how much of a pig my first boss was.  

I studied more after college and earned many certifications. You would be so excited to see them; I put them up on the wall even though I feel like a complete imposter. My later jobs paid better after that first one. One day, I made up my mind to start a company of my own.  

It's been seven years running my company, Grandma—seven years of working at home so that I can spend time with my children whenever I want. Seven years of being the boss and choosing to go to every school show, every piano, choir, and drama performance, just like you did for me. You never got to meet the other two children, but you would have loved them.  

Thank you, Grandma, for loving me so much that today I can love my own children despite the hard times I’ve faced—hard times that threatened to make it impossible for me to be a loving person at all. All of us have your unconditional kindness and love to thank for the incredible life we have today. You’ve been gone for sixteen years now, but your memory is crocheted into every fiber of my being.  

My eternal gratitude. Rest in peace, my sweet and kind Grandma Grace.