Grandmother's Gift
Before I was born, my father's mother died at the age of 28. He was an only child and undoubtedly close to his mom. He obviously was the apple of her eye--she even entered him in a beautiful baby contest! (I know this because of a copy of the application was found not too long ago.)
My grandmother's beauty is remarkable and quite clear in the many photos of her. From what I've heard over the years about her personality, that was quite beautiful, too. I know that my life would have been very different if she was alive when I was born, but that was not meant to be.
I share my first name with my grandmother. What's interesting is that she CHOSE her name. She was born with the name Mary or Marianne, with the middle name of Branislawa, which I think is quite striking. I guess this wasn't American enough for her, so she became known as Mamie or Marie. Her vibrancy comes through in her name choices and the stories left behind.
By the time she met my grandfather, both of her parents were deceased and one of her older sisters was named as her guardian. I know this because of the copy of my grandparents' marriage application I found at the Luzerne County Courthouse. If you think life seems short now, think about how it was early in the twentieth century...much much shorter.
My grandfather's sisters, Helen and Josephine, adored Marie and they were fast and true friends. Her generous spirit, ready laugh, and passion for life charmed them all. Marie's sister soon became ill with the scourge of the time: tuberculosis. Marie cared for her through her illness, and sadly contracted the disease herself. My father, although he didn't totally "catch" it, still tests positive for tuberculosis. Her love for him probably saved his life; I can't imagine why he didn't succumb from the illness, other than she protected him.
The journey of Marie's illness will be left for another time. My grandfather's grief over her death will also be left for another time.
Marie gave what little jewelry she had to Helen and Josephine, with a promise to pass on to her grandchildren, if she had any. These two sweet women kept that promise...and more. They passed on her memory, her spirit, her story, her legend. All of these I hold in my heart, and pass on daily to many others, especially my children.
According to my definition of a saint, my grandmother is a saint. She lives on through my children. There is no greater tribute than that. There is nothing sweeter than that.
My grandmother's beauty is remarkable and quite clear in the many photos of her. From what I've heard over the years about her personality, that was quite beautiful, too. I know that my life would have been very different if she was alive when I was born, but that was not meant to be.
I share my first name with my grandmother. What's interesting is that she CHOSE her name. She was born with the name Mary or Marianne, with the middle name of Branislawa, which I think is quite striking. I guess this wasn't American enough for her, so she became known as Mamie or Marie. Her vibrancy comes through in her name choices and the stories left behind.
By the time she met my grandfather, both of her parents were deceased and one of her older sisters was named as her guardian. I know this because of the copy of my grandparents' marriage application I found at the Luzerne County Courthouse. If you think life seems short now, think about how it was early in the twentieth century...much much shorter.
My grandfather's sisters, Helen and Josephine, adored Marie and they were fast and true friends. Her generous spirit, ready laugh, and passion for life charmed them all. Marie's sister soon became ill with the scourge of the time: tuberculosis. Marie cared for her through her illness, and sadly contracted the disease herself. My father, although he didn't totally "catch" it, still tests positive for tuberculosis. Her love for him probably saved his life; I can't imagine why he didn't succumb from the illness, other than she protected him.
The journey of Marie's illness will be left for another time. My grandfather's grief over her death will also be left for another time.
Marie gave what little jewelry she had to Helen and Josephine, with a promise to pass on to her grandchildren, if she had any. These two sweet women kept that promise...and more. They passed on her memory, her spirit, her story, her legend. All of these I hold in my heart, and pass on daily to many others, especially my children.
According to my definition of a saint, my grandmother is a saint. She lives on through my children. There is no greater tribute than that. There is nothing sweeter than that.
posted by Reading Reader | 1:06 PM
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