She was a trailblazer. Taking on the patriarchy way before we understood what patriarchy was. She was brave, courageous, stone cold in a nice way. She understood what it took to walk toe to toe with the men who didn’t believe she should be in her position.
She grew up on a farm, where in the winter she would wake up in the morning with snow drifts in the corners of her bedroom. She raised 3 boys and lost a girl at childbirth. When I came along, in my dysfunctional world, she stepped up and rubbed her hands together and said “Give me that girl! I’ll take care of her!”
She created a world of mystery and imagination in my broken little world. In her closet she kept a box of dress up clothes. Pretty dresses, dangly necklaces and high heeled shoes. She would get her hands on refrigerator boxes and we would decorate them, cutting out windows, and at night, we would drag our mattresses outside into the boxes and sleep under the stars.
She’s 94 now. She had several mini strokes a few years back that wiped out her short term memory. Everything resets every 15 minutes. She fell a few months back and hit her head, which was the domino to her downfall. Hospital, rehab, home, hospital, rehab, hospital… broken hip, surgery, loss of blood, low blood pressure. And through it all, her memory reset every 15 minutes.
I saw her in the hospital this week and it broke every single piece of my heart. My hero. My protector. The person who I wanted to be like. The person who I wanted to make proud. The person who marveled at my accomplishments and bragged about me to her friends. Now laying in a bed. I said “Grandma, it’s me Stacy.” and her face filled with confusion. She whispered, “I used to know a Stacy. But she’s gone. She abandoned me. Everyone has abandoned me.”
I reassured her that I hadn’t. She would forget in 15 minutes though. She told me about how she used to have Stacy all the time and she loved Stacy. That Stacy was so sweet, such a sweet girl…. And her chin quivered, and she cried. She turned her head and looked at me and said, “Are you really my Stacy?”
I just stroked her head and reassured her that yes, I was really her Stacy, and that I loved her.
She always told me that the day you stop learning is the day you die. I’ve held onto those worlds like an anthem, and become my own trailblazer, she raised me well.