For My Grandma

Every time I sit down to write this, I find something else to do. How do you tell someone you love them without thinking about when you won't be able to tell them? There has been some tragedy in our community recently and before I don't ever have the opportunity to say it loud and proud, I will say it now.

Grandma,

I know you know, but just in case my sarcasm and bitchy attitude has led you down a different path please know I love you.

This past Saturday as we sat in shul, the Rabbi asked if there was anyone in the congregation that wanted to add a name for his weekly Mi Shebeirach - a prayer for healing. Without prompting, your eight year old great granddaughter stood up to say, "My Bubbe."

I cried.

You are not sick. You are fine. You are 87 and even my eight year old knows people don't live forever.

Please know I love you. We all love you. You created four amazing daughters who created their own children who are creating their own children. You created a family that knows nothing is more important than family.

I know we pick on you. I know I pick on you, but that is because you can take it. You dish it out pretty well too. If anyone needs to know where the women in our family got their attitude from - all they have to do is meet you. We got our strength from you too.

When you mailed me cookies in a shoe box and they arrived all broken, I loved you.

When you worked at Burdines and bought me clothes I did not like, I loved you.

When you called me a spoiled brat, I loved you.

When you took out your teeth and just left them on the counter like it was NOT the grossest thing ever, I loved you.

When you slapped me at my Bat-Mitzvah under some "tradition" of becoming a woman, I loved you.

When you took me to the beach every summer, I loved you.

When you forced me to race my brother and cousins in the water to make us better swimmers, I loved you.

When you sent a picture of yourself to me and I asked if I was to show this to the police if you got lost, I loved you.

When you ask on the phone if I am feeling OK, I love you.

When I roll my eyes at your ridiculous comments, I love you.

When I yell at you because some old lady at your apartment complex was rude, I love you.

When you can barely get in the car and yell at me for trying to help you, I love you.

When you tell me I am being a bitch, I love you.

When you trust me to tell me your gripes, I love you.

When you ask me to get you something and then yell at me to do it because I am not moving fast enough, I love you.

When you get mad at us at a family dinner because we are too loud, I love you.

When you get your feelings hurt because I am actually being a bitch, I love you.

When you tell me your time is coming and you are marking things off your bucket list, I cry and I love you.

I love you on Facebook, I love you during our phone calls, I love you.

When you disagree with my political beliefs, when you disagree with how I parent, when you disagree with anything, you tell (yell at) me. You always let me know how you feel because you love me and I love you too. You are who you are and at 87, there is definitely no changing you. And honestly, even though you could literally drive me to drink, I would not change you. I love you.

I know we all carry a piece of you. I know every woman in our family is headed to be the mayor of crazy town and I know our kids will love us. They will love us when we are funny, caring, mean old ladies because we love you.

You created that. The family that loves no matter what.

Yes, I get frustrated with you sometimes.
Yes, I want to strangle you sometimes.
Yes, I want to scream at you sometimes.
Yes, I roll my eyes at you sometimes.

But most of all, I love you all the time.