When Irish Eyes are Smiling

"If you want to see a clean house, make an appointment.  If you just want to see me, you are welcome any time."

It became a jaunty ritual that Grandma and I had when she'd pop over after an appointment that brought her into "town".  She would make an excuse as to why she did not call to let me know she was coming (I'm sure she had no intention of actually calling) and I would reply with the same response every time as I moved toys to make room for her on the couch.  It was usually on the mornings when I still hadn't showered, the current baby had me up all night, and the kids had earlier created a whirling dirvish with their popcorn now left all over the living room carpet...I would happen to wearily glance out the front window and see her huge white car pull into the driveway.
Over the years, my reaction changed from:  
Why can't someone pop over when my house is actually clean and I've actually had a chance to take a shower and I actually want company? 
to: There's Grandma...of course. 
I'd take a few deep breaths, bind my pride to the whipping post, and open the door with a cheery greeting, genuinely happy to see her.

These "surprise" visits became more frequent in the last years of Grandma's life; I am thankful that I learned to count them as blessings before they ended.  I am thankful that Grandma was endeared to me in life rather than in hindsight.  We were not close in my childhood.  She was very busy with church and community activities, but not so busy being a grandma.  I grew up knowing her as the "other" grandma and her ways were foreign to me (like Jello-based foods and used rummage sale gifts).  Luckily, one of the things I learned in the hard knocks of adulthood is that everyone has a different style of love...not better or worse, just different.  Love is both shined out and received though the lenses of our experiences...perhaps the rays might not be as bright or the color we are used to, but they are still there.  I know that my Grandma loved me and I'm sure she knew I loved her.  Ironically, that is what makes her passing easier for me.

My grandma was quite the character.  I have always been proud of the Irish blood I inherited from her, and with it, I think I got some of her strong spirit.  She would always speak her mind...often at great length.  She loved people, liked to know and be known.  She wasn't the type to get bogged down by problems, because she always had a story about someone dealing with something worse.  She had a glint of blarney in her eye and was always ready to laugh.  I often think of both my grandmas raising a brood of children with a 50's model husband and it makes me appreciate just how much my husband helps me.  I am awed by the strength of her generation.

I visited Grandma in the hospital the afternoon before she slipped away from this earth.  She was already heavily sedated awaiting the inevitable.  I had hoped to hold her hand...have some sort of contact that would let her know I was there...but she was bundled up under blankets.  Her appearance was a stark contrast to her vibrant personality.  And it already felt like she was no longer there.

On the other hand, it feels like she is still here.  Maybe it hasn't sunk in yet.  Grief usually takes its sweet time and pops in to visit us when we are not ready.