Saying goodbye.

Around the first week of May every year, I had the same problem. I had to find the right Mother's Day card. Or even something remotely acceptable.

I stood in front of the pink, the flowers, and the sap. It was easy enough to find the other cards on my list. But Grandma's was hard. Every "grandmother" card I picked up was the same: Grandma, all those years of stories, cuddles, and cookies have meant so much to me. Lovely, though barftastic, as the sentiment was, it just wasn't my grandma.

She loved us as much as that Grandma, just in her way. She played with us, but she didn't let us win. She didn't do stuff for us that we could do ourselves. And don't let her catch you doing nothing after a meal. Get your arse up and help with the cleanup. Because that's the way of the world.

Grandma Rain was practical. She loved to tell me how her parents had gotten her sister jewelry for graduation, but she wanted snow tires. Function was always most important.

She was never bored. First, she took care of her family.

After that, she volunteered any other free time she had. She was passionate about Scandinavian history and culture, and keeping it alive for generations of idiots like mine.

She was silly. She loved to laugh and to make other people laugh. It was not uncommon for her to just stick her tongue out at you and say something goofy.

She was the picture-taker, video-maker. She was always taking pictures or lugging around that giant VHS-recorder, scolding me for being "scowly."

 My grandma was a wife. For 64 years. 64 years.

She was also a mother, a grandmother, and a great grandmother.

She loved my daughter so, so much. And Lily loved her, too. Never mind that they only had a short time together. Whenever I think of the two of them, I think of them sitting at the bar in Grandma Rain's kitchen. Lily loved to talk, and Grandma Rain loved to listen. I don't know what they talked about, but they giggled a lot.

Around this time (almost exactly) last year, I was about 8 months pregnant and Grandma Rain got really sick. She was in the hospital, and, well, things didn't look very good. Lily and I flew home. I didn't know if she would get to meet her great grandson or not.

Turned out, she did get to meet him. The months between then and September 2013 were rocky. Some weeks she was doing great, and some weeks she wasn't. In June, we got lucky. We were back in Wisconsin, and Grandma Rain was doing great. She got to meet Brendan, hold him, and just know him a little bit. He made her laugh with his silly hair, his funny noises, and his constantly-kicking feet.

I  really didn't think it would be the only time. I know that was stupid given how sick she was, but I just denied that part. I was convinced we would have this Christmas together, and maybe even more.
I didn't take near enough pictures or make near enough videos. That one above, of Grandma and Brendan, that's all I have of the two of them. And I will cherish it.


Grandma used to visit her sister in Fort Myers Beach every year. There was tree that she liked on the beach. She liked it because it was strange. I walked on that beach with her once and she stopped along the way to tell a bird he was a "funny-looking chicken." That was the place we chose to say goodbye.

It will be hard not to dwell on what's missing this Christmas. There is a hole in my family's heart.

But if I could hear my grandma now, I expect she would be telling me to quit fussing and be grateful for what we do have -- and that includes a lifetime of memories. And I will cherish them.