Thicker Than Water
My grandmother just died.
Her body has been declining for a while. And if I had to guess, her spirit died a long time ago.
I’ve mentioned before: “My grandmother was my first bully and she’s been consistent ever since.” So in the finality of death, I’m faced with what will now absolutely never be.
Acknowledging the extraordinary bond that should exist between grandparents and their grandchildren is also an acknowledgment of a hole that will remain vacant because she chose not to take up, furnish, and nurture that special space.
Most of my life people have reasoned “but she’s your grandmother!,” and as I aged into adulthood and being fed up, I started to respond with “then go tell HER.” Productive and generative relationships require more than one person to commit to growth and leaning in - family or not. A shared DNA is not a contract for neverending mistreatment, consistent violations of boundaries, any level of abuse, so on, and so forth. I’d also scream with my whole chest - THAT IS NOT OFF GOD.
A few months ago, I had a very vivid dream that she died and my father begged me to eulogize her. Of course, knowing that he knows how I feel about my relationship with my grandmother, I thought he had lost his mind. He kept asking me to do it and I told him that all I had to say was the truth. To which he responded, “then tell the truth.”
So here I am… with a complicated, but clear truth. An antibiotic pill laced with nails. Every letter typed with sadness and guilt that I hope to one day peel off.
This is my eulogy of that lady:
If you let her tell it, Amelia was perfect. Found herself in church for every Sunday service, prayer meeting, and Bible Study to which her body would allow her. She prayed often and never said a fucking curse word. And yet somehow, from her mouth flowed superficial blessings and deep cursings regularly. She gave out judgment to everyone like flowers - for celebrations, holidays, and random “Just Because.” She was a giver like that. She would make sure neighborhoods were fed and never skipped a beat on the gossip of whose “unfortunate” kids were born out of wedlock.
She was a saintly witness. Eyes, ears, and nose in everyone’s business while her own home crumbled in ways she willfully ignored. Amelia passed down no recipes because children were never allowed in the kitchen.
My favorite memory of Grandma Amelia… the “death grip.” When she was ready to have a conversation, she had this particular way of grabbing your wrist and refusing to let go until you surrendered whatever form of questioning or accountability you were attempting to communicate. That lady was so strong.
And how can I forget the night she prayed for me to be delivered from whatever was “possessing” me after I dared try to address a family issue.
It is said, “Our grandparents give us a sense of who we are and where we came from.” She may or may not have ever felt and projected deep love. It is unclear if she ever felt safe or cared for (for which I give her so much grace), and she used this as a model for the ways she cultivated fear in her own children and grandchildren. The sense of who I am that I learned from my grandmother is a person in need of deep repair. Seen, never heard. A woman who should never be too loud - not a cough or laugh above a whisper. She exemplified a requirement of ladylike which I despised and have spent so much time unlearning.
It could be said that she was so “spiritually minded and no earthly good,” but she left a mark on everyone. Some of those marks will require therapy to remove. Her presence really shaped me.
Amelia leaves this world with a heavy soul. Burdened with the tainted relationships she left in her shadow and everything she stripped away from her children, her grandchildren, and those she touched, because she let a flawed view of Jesus keep her from deep care for others. She is survived by bickering and emotionally immature children, confused grandchildren, and great-grands who may one day forget who she was.
Grandma Amelia, you influenced us all so deeply.
Well done, my good and faithful servant. You’ve left us a mess. I can’t wait to tell my therapist.
