My grandmother died a few months ago and I find I'm still going through the grief cycle. As I often tell the newly bereaved that I meet or know from my job at the synagogue, there is no expiration date on grief, we need to take as long as we need to heal and go through the process. Faye died at the end of August and I spent the better part of a year visiting with her at least weekly, doing her shopping, checking in on her, listening to her stories, reconnecting with her. Faye was my grandfather, (Poppy) Pete's 2nd wife. So she was my step-grandmother. She was a hell of a lot more of a grandmother or relative to me than nearly any actual blood relative in my life. She was also more of a relative to me than just about any of my relatives, via marriage or through the extended family lines of my life.
While we were not exceptionally close most of my life, I felt a bond with her that I did not feel with any other relative. She was a special lady to not only her friends and family but to my grandfather and by extension to me as well. One of my most vivid dreams that I can still remember is of her. When I was about 6 or 7, I had a dream that was in some ways sort of the backdrop of the story of the Wizard of Oz. In my dream, Faye was the Good Witch of the North, beautiful and kind, showing me the way to a better place. This dream, or my memory of it was as rich in technicolour splendor as the scene in the movie when Dorothy reaches Oz and steps onto the yellow brick road. Nearly 40 years later I can still sense the dream and remember how many times I forced myself back to sleep just to restart the dream.
The story of the Wizard of Oz, as well as the movie are my absolute favorite. There is something about this young, misunderstood child girl who longs for a world and family of her own. I've always been drawn to tales of orphans who had to fend for themselves in the cruel world. My own upbringing isn't too far fetched of a fairy tale story - complete with the evil queen of a mother, an absent or dead father and many friendly woodland creatures and friends who help along the way. While I never wanted to be awakened by a Prince who would kiss me and carry me off to his castle, I did, as a young person, want to be rescued and taken away from my hovel. I liken my life story to equal parts Cinderella - cleaning the home and hearth with only the critters for friends; Snow White because I had a jealous mother who thought she was the fairest of all; Little Red Riding Hood because I was abused by wolves in disguise.
Faye and I were not in close touch for many years. We didn't see each other often and there were years that went by when we lost track of each other. I was to busy living my life, figuring out who I was and what I wanted to be and do. Faye was working, going to the casino's, taking care of her sisters, nieces and other relatives. When we did talk it felt as though no time had elapsed. I was bad about calling her, as I am about keeping in touch with a lot of people. I also think that given my distrust of family and my problem with trusting bonds, I just didn't want to be connected. I loved Faye a lot but we weren't about to say it to each other. I was not openly out to Faye either, so I'm sure that played a big part in my distance. However, when she called me back in the Fall of 2010, and told me she needed my help, I went to her. Little did I know how far along she was in poor health. Faye was this ageless woman; it was a shock to see this frail 90 year old woman. Where did the vital, spit fire woman go that I knew and remembered? Faye had caught up with her body's real age. It happens. Her mind, it seemed was still as sharp as could be. It was the rest of her that started to decline. For the next 10 months, I would go to see her, talk to her almost daily and hear her tell me stories about my Poppy. I got to do things for her. I spent quality time with her, learning about how she met my grandfather; hearing tales about her upbringing on 7th and Washington Avenue in South Philly. I heard stories of how my mother was as a little girl - just as mean and bitter then as she is now. And I heard Faye lament on how she felt she had failed me and wanted to make it up to me. I don't blame her for what did and didn't happen to me as a kid. She was busy taking care of my grandfather and fighting his illnesses and trying to fight my mother were more than she could bare.
My mother would often pit me against my grandparents, keeping me from seeing them as punishment against them. It only went to spite and hurt me in the end. My grandfather died with not only a bad heart but with a broken one too. And Faye went to her grave with a sadness in hers that stemmed from not doing enough for me as a kid. I guess since she's the only one who ever admitted this I love her even more. And that's what makes me even sadder about her death. Just as we reconnected we ended. The bright spot in this is that I have no regrets. I don't feel as though I missed an opportunity or that I lost a chance to gather a piece of my family history. I find it ironic that the story of who I am and what my history is comes from someone who isn't related to me. Then again, while we cannot pick our family but we can pick out who means the most to us.
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