Dear Grandma Bulson,

I will not be there this week, and I’m so sorry. You know why I can’t come and I know you understand. If I were to be there I would take a moment to tell you these things. And yes- I know it’s not “you” anymore, but for my own sake I would still want to tell your earthly body these things:

Grandma- I get it now. Sometimes as a child and an adult, I didn’t. Sometimes you just made me crazy. For example…

I hated it when you took the comb out of your purse when I got into your big yellow car. You were not good at combing hair. It hurt like hell. Guess what? I’m not good at it either. Ava  hates it when I comb her hair. I always tell her, “Better me than Grandma B!” And that’s not a joke. You were terrible with that comb. And all of us are seriously self-conscious about our hair as adults because we have constantly been told how “turrable” we look.

I seriously hated getting clothes for every Christmas. Especially when they matched Jill’s. I swear you thought we were twins. And yes, on November 4th every year I will remind her that we are the same age for almost two months. I’ll also buy Suzanne a red sweater this Christmas. Just for you.

I hated being introduced to strangers. I swear you knew everyone and everyone’s business. And as an adult getting the reports on who died and who made the paper always made me cringe. I had no clue who you were talking about most of the time. Who is going to tell me when Sara’s kids are in the paper now? 

I hated getting messages from you saying I never called you. Oh my gosh- the worst! Are you sure you weren’t Catholic? Because the guilt was so thick! But even better was when people went from answering machines to voicemail and you didn’t get it yet so you would talk thinking I could hear you, “Jennifer? Jennifer? Hello?……hello? It’s grandma!” You’ve been gone a little over 24 hours and I’ve re-listened to every voicemail I have from you- twice. But I still don’t want you’re pots and pans even three messages later. 

I hated it when I had a day to sleep in and you would call at 5am. You would claim to never remember the time change as my heart pounded in my chest because I thought there was an emergency. May I remember this trick when my kids move away.  

But I really hated it when mom died, and everyday I had to relive it with you on the phone on my way into work. We worked through it toghether you and I. We walked a path where the space between us was empty too soon. You without another child, me too young to be without a mom. But we did it. Almost everyday. You helped build a bridge between my pain and my heart. I think I helped you do the same. Sometimes when I drive that road I can still hear your words.

I hated that circumstances left me unable to come home often. I would have visited more if I were able. I am so thankful for the week Ava and I spent with you. You were a terrible patient. You thought I was someone named Linda. But watching you and Ava talk together was really what gave me peace about things. We both will treasure it forever. 

For as much as you made me crazy, you made me laugh. We all knew we were loved by you. Your unconventional ways of showing it did not go unnoticed. 

I’m going to miss hearing you say, “Grandma loves ya’!” The last time we talked you just nodded when I said it. But I know. I’m glad you finally felt like we were going to be okay without you. We will do our best. We will make jokes about each other’s hair and appearance. We will use the word “aacky” and say “shush” when it feels appropriate. We will be as strong as you because you taught us to be. We will miss you. None of us really believe you are gone. We love you.

Love,

Jennifer (Jenaser)

Ps: Tony has something to tell you.

PPS: We all knew who your favorite was, and we didn’t care. 

Often there are moments in time where the world around us stands still. Sometimes only for a second. It’s like a pause. A pause to take in an event that will alter your life forever. 

Today, with the sun on my face, my heart beating hard in my chest, I felt a pause. The pumpkin patch stood still. I couldn’t even hear the kids in my class. I saw fall colors all around me and heard only my uncle’s voice on the other end of the phone. I will never forget it. It hit hard, though I knew it was coming. She is gone. She has left her earthly home. As the call and the pause ended I gathered my tears, stood up straight, fixed my clothes and headed back to where my students were waiting with their families to get on the hay ride to pick out their pumpkins. You can be surrounded by people smaller than you and still feel so small and alone in moments like that. 

I don’t have many words today. Just jumbled up feelings that are sitting on my chest. My oldest plays his trumpet in band for the first time tonight for a football game and it seems very fitting to me. Grandma Bulson loved sitting next to the marching band at high school football games. Good memories and new memories being made. 

An honest post about my life at this moment.

This is a picture from a little over a year ago. Probably the last time I’ll see my grandma this side of heaven. She is something. And if you know her, you know what I mean. Born and raised in Alabama she has a certain ability to tell you she loves you by telling you how “turrable” your hair is. Looking your best is important to her. 

She was a hard worker. She worked at Hormel. Her coworkers called her “Alabam” because of her accent. And I grew up hearing that I was one of “Alabam’s” grandkids She has not had an easy life. She lost her son. Her husband. And then her daughter, my mother. She has been sick countless times. Including lung cancer. She is tough. She is a fighter. She has a hard exterior. 

She is the matriarch of our family and my last connection to my mother. She sees it as her job to take care of us…but it seems she is ready for her journey home soon. And bless her southern heart, she is likely going to make sure we are all okay before she leaves us. 

Pray for her journey to be without pain. Pray she feels ready, even though I don’t know that we are. Pray she isn’t scared. Pray for my aunt and uncle who have taken care of her for as long as I can remember. Pray for the joy in the mourning. We don’t know when God will call anyone home. And it never feels like the right time. But if it’s His will it is the right time. 
We love you gma. And I promise not a single strand of hair will be out of place when my kids leave the house every day.