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.