Silver Bells

My grandmother is on the right. She is my dad's mom.
My parents have always been social creatures, going to parties, volunteering for groups, belonging to clubs, that sort of thing. When I was young my grandmother watched us when they went out. I remember sitting in my grandma's house watching TV or listening to her play the piano. I had always envied my grandma's ability to play. During Christmas time when my folks went to different sundry events, my sister and I would go to grandma's house and usually spend the night, hardly a hardship. It was a time for us to have her all to ourselves. It was a time for us to be spoiled, make cookies and sing around the piano.
Grandma would pull out Christmas music and ask us to pick our favorites. Mine changed every time I was asked, being fickle, one week it was Frosty, the next time it was The First Noel. I had never really had a favorite Christmas song, I loved them all, so choosing a specific tune on any given night was tortuous for me. Grandma always chose Silver Bells, pulling the dog eared pages out, setting them up on the piano, asking Kim to turn the page when necessary. I wasn't asked because I couldn't seem to gather my coordination about me enough to do it. When I tried turning the delicate paper pages, inevitably everything would fall to the floor and things would come to a halt.
I would sit next to my grandma on the piano bench and listen as she warbled her way through Silver Bells. The three of us would be singing full out, under the small light that stood on the piano, looking on over the small hard candy Christmas tree that sat next to it.
Grandma's house was always warm mainly because she was always cold. My grandmother had an assortment of sweaters, primarily pink ones for every occasion. To this day, I still have two of those sweaters, stored away but easily accessed when I feel like I really need a dose of unconditional love from the woman who treated me as if the sun rose and set just for me. I guess, today was one of those days, when I really missed my grandmother and all her idiosyncratic behaviors, traditions and warm loving hands.
She had a tiny two bedroom house across town from where we lived. Being small, it seemed to take forever to get to Grandma's house on the west side. I felt as if I had traveled some great distance to get there, where in truth, going back I could have walked it if necessary. It wasn't right next door, but it was hardly the journey my tiny mind had set it to be. Being at Grandma's house felt like a vacation from real life when my parents weren't there. We still had bedtimes, childlike responsibilities, but it was just different enough to allow for me to feel relaxed, comforted and loved.
The phrase "comfort and joy", I guess, describes it best for me, that is how I felt, comforted and joyful, soothed by Grandma's soft hands on my back as I drifted off to sleep in the soft bed in the spare room. I will tell you though, my grandma made doll cakes as a hobby, where she use a doll torsos complete with a head and insert it into a half round cake, where she would decorate it to look like a princess in a ball gown. These disfigured torso creatures were kept in the top drawer in the bureau in the spare room. She would open that drawer and I would see not pretty dolls but dolls who looked chopped in half and it really freaked me out. If I saw them before I went to sleep, I would have nightmares about "paraplegic Barbie" the rest of the night. When I first told Grandma of my fear of the halfings, she scoffed and said, "there was nothing to be afraid of." She soon learned after having to spend the night with me, the drawer was best left shut until daylight hours.
My Grandmother was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease when I was still in grade school, about 342 years ago. I had the misfortune of watching as she lost her independence, having to sell her little house, so she could move in with us. As much as she loved all of us, it chipped away at her, that she no longer could have the life she had built. I saw the sadness, witnessed the frustration as her hands shook a little more, and her legs became like lead weights, she would have to drag around to get from one place to the next. She had hardening of the arteries and began the telltale signs of geriatric onset dementia. One day when she was driving she had gotten lost in the town she had lived in for well over 20 years. It was then she was once again informed it was not safe for her to drive anymore. She was heartbroken, but I saw fear in her eyes; she knew that my parents were right and she would have to give it up. My parent's had to handle all of my grandmother's illness with her and eventually for her. My father being an only child was forced to make hard, ugly decisions when it cam to his mother. He guarded her safety, her privacy, her dignity until the day she died. My mother took care of her as if she were her own, because to my mom, she was. I still feel the weight on my parents as they made daily decisions for her care. Grandma lived with us for seven years, and in those seven years she slid down the constant hill of decline, eventually requiring full time care. My parents did everything they could to keep her at home, with us, where they were certain she was safe, and loved. My parents lived a tortured existence during this time. They never gave themselves a break from the constant demands of grandma's welfare. They second guessed every decision they made, because they made the toughest decisions they would ever face. I will tell you, the respect and admiration I have for my parents and what they did for my grandmother is immeasurable. This was the very reason I became a nurse who specialized in elderly care.
When Grandma moved in, her piano moved in with her. I was in high school, so going to Grandma's house had lost it's magical appeal, anyway. Having her close meant sitting at the piano in our blended home, once again picking favorite Christmas songs. As she had done a thousand times before, she had chosen Silver Bells.
I miss my Grandma. I miss the way she thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. I miss her stories of her family and my grandpa, who died of Leukemia long before I was ever born. My recurring question about him was always if he would have liked me. Grandma always said the same thing, reassuring me that he would have been proud of me and loved me dearly.
At Christmas time I listen to Christmas music all day every day. Silver Bells comes on the radio and I immediately go that place where memories of Grandma fill my heart and tears fill my eyes.
I miss my grandma's physical presence, but she gave me the gift of music that stays with me everywhere I go. If I close my eyes and listen really hard I can still hear her sing.