This July 5th

This morning my grandmother, Brooke Louise Townsend, passed away. She was 77, and an emotionally complex woman. The type whose commentary often made you ponder retrospectively, “Was that intended to hurt my feelings?” And often, you weren’t certain if it really did. She died of esophageal cancer – one among tens of thousands of people struggling with the illness – and was brought up to believe smoking cured things, at least for a decade or two. I think for grandma, sometimes it had. In accordance with Diet Pepsi, which she consumed amply for many years beside cigarettes and Lifesavers Wintermint candies.

I really loved her.

I really loved her, though following her diagnosis, I drew away. The last several years of my own life held a near steady course of heartache and forced change, and I was afraid to feel more.

Through maturation, marriage/motherhood/divorce, and the ensuing sense the dynamic with Grandma had been inextricably altered, our engagements waned. I realize now, we were both hurt in feeling less needed, and perhaps worse, less wanted by the other.

And we are both the type of women to feel uncertain about that. At times, it just is.

I am writing this now because I’m struggling to feel right. I think I am relieved, though see the potential discord in that. With everyone. But also, I am grateful.

My grandmother and I had a special relationship. She saw value in appearance and consequent self-confidence, and would often take me shopping for clothing throughout the school year. Despite the distance between our respective generations, she understood my teenage desire to express one transient phase or another, and she supported that. I loved her for this, too. Grandma understood crop tops, JNCO Jeans, and the application of fine-grained mica particles along the lash line, before I realized such a thing was potentially damaging to the cornea.

Grandma understood the humor in darkness, and was keen to play along. Grandma loved candy, and chocolate, and laughed genuinely at Looney Toons reruns. She introduced me to teriyaki and breakfast nestled in Styrofoam McDonald's containers. Grandma loved ordering London Broil, but really didn’t like Omaha much.

We shared some deeply, heart-wrenchingly personal moments together. Moments of self-expression that closed with an implied understanding they didn’t leave us – our bond. Those are too precious to share.

I really loved her. And I will miss her. I will miss her dearly, but especially at Christmas. Especially while eating fudge at Christmas, because she used to say, “I love fudge,” but in a voice only used to express over the most indulgent things.

I know it would bring her happiness to know I will always think of her when eating fudge.