Passing Torches...

My father's parents moved to Florida before I was 10.  I have very few memories of them from when I was a child other than the two times we went to visit them.  When I was 20, I moved to Florida and was fortunate enough to be only 3 hours away from them.  I was able to visit, talk, and learned more about them in the 7 years I lived there, than I ever thought I would.  When I was 30, my grandmother past away.  She was sick for a long time, and when she died, I was very sad, but in some ways relieved that she would no longer be in pain.  In uncharted waters, little by little, I struggled through my first experiences with death.  I inherited her sewing machine.  And, every time I bring it out I can feel her there with me. Guiding me in turning a simple quilt into a family heirloom.  Feeling her sense of pride as I re-purpose something worn and used into something new and beautiful.  And, I know I channel her expertise, when I make christening gowns for her great grand babies from their parents wedding dresses, since I am always taken away by their extraordinary beauty when they are finished.

Five years later, my grandfather past away.  He was forgetful, and towards the end, needed some assistance in his every day living.  He always made me laugh.  He played tennis everyday, served his country, loved his Florida sunshine and his blue polyester pants.  He got sick and died within 48 hours.  It was quick, and in the end, painless.   From my grandfather, I inherited his naval uniform and an American flag with 48 stars.  I have them tucked in the hope chest for now, and someday will mount them in a shadowbox, along with photographs, for display in my office.  For my dad,  the passing of both his parents now made him the grandfather.  It was a finality that came quickly, but in the end was okay.  We all got through it together, a  little bit at a time.

Five months later, my mother's mother past away.  The cancer took her within 6 weeks, and she was only truly sick within the last two.  I had known my Grammie my whole life. She wrote children's stories and illustrated them for us when we were little, attempted to teach me how to play the piano, and had tea parties with my sister and I. I inherited from her my sense of adventure, my desire to travel the world, desire to learn new things, and my curiosity.  I credit her with my bizarre love of stamps, writing, and letters of any kind.  I have planted my own "wonder garden"  with new "surprise" plants every year to remember her.  I miss her everyday, and sometimes forget that she's gone, to infinity... and beyond.  And, little by little, I am getting through it. 

Five months later, my last remaining grandparent, my Papa, has passed away.  He was 83, and taking no medications other than for seasonal allergies.  He had talked to all of his nine children within the last 16 hours of his life, was feeling great, and was joking around with my uncle in the kitchen that morning.  He was going to lunch with my mother, said he didn't feel good, and was rushed to the hospital.  There,  8 hours later, surrounded by 21 of his family members, he was gone.  We are all shocked and saddened, but grateful for the time that we have had with him. My oldest memory of my Papa is of playing at his feet in his office while he smoked his pipe, and checked on his stocks.  He hasn't smoked a pipe in 30 years, but every time I smell  vanilla pipe tobacco, I think of him.  And I will get through this too, a little at a time.

But here's the thing.

He was my last surviving grandparent.

I am no longer a grand daughter.

My boys are no longer great-grandchildren.

The torch has been passed.

My Mom and Dad are now the grandparents.

I am the adult child.

And, I'm not sure I'm ready for this.

But, I suppose I will be, eventually, a little at a time.