How's that for an opening sentence?
Ok, not really death per-se... more the people I've lost in my life. I know, it seems strange, but there's a reason. In Ashkenic Judaism, it's customary to name your children after people in the family that passed away. My Dad is named after his grandfather; my Mom is named after her grandmother; I am named after not one, but TWO of the Bubbies Esther (both my paternal grandparents had grandmothers named Esther).
My child will be no different.
Maybe the tradition runs more with the Polish Jews than all of the Ashkenaz people but I take pride in this tradition.
Up until I was 26, I still had all four of my grandparents. Then my Papa passed away. I'll never forget the weeks that led up to his death and I'll never understand why G-d makes death so painful sometimes. It was horrific to watch. My Mom was a trooper the whole time. Papa taught me a few very valuable lessons in life: pick your battles; back up your argument; and anything can be deep-fried. The last one is my favorite. As my Papa got older, he learned to deep fry anything he could get his hands on. Chicken. Fish. Vegetables. Even a candy bar. It drove my Gram insane!
As you know, I lost my maternal grandmother (my Bubba) just under two months ago. She was my rock. She was the only woman I've ever met who could be angry at you because her husband was angry at you. When she yelled at you, the words coming out of her mouth had nothing to do with WHY my grandfather was angry. Case in point: my grandfather was angry at one of my sisters for how she lived her life. My grandmother was angry because she wouldn't take the coupon for 50 cents off laundry detergent. The way Bubba yelled at her for that coupon, you'd think my sister started World War II and my grandmother had to hold her accountable! Bubba knew she had to stand by her man and be just as angry but she didn't always take his side with WHY she was angry. It was usually just for show because you wound up leaving her house with food afterwards.
I started thinking about my Papa today because I'm wearing a cardigan. It seems lame but when I was around 13, my grandfather started giving me his cardigans. Ever since then, I preferred my cardigans to be over-sized and long. I wish I had saved some of them - I'm sure I still have a few. His cardigans bring me comfort, just like McDonalds. Don't yell at me for that last part! When I was in Middle School, kids were cruel to me. My Papa picked me up nearly every day and took me to McDonalds... where I super-sized every meal. It was "our little secret" that was not a secret at all. Lord only knows how I didn't wind up weighing 800lbs.
As a kid, I would go visit my grandparents in Florida. Occasionally, one of my cousins would accompany me. For breakfast, we'd go to McDonalds. Oddly enough, I didn't like those breakfasts and my cousin wound up eating my pancakes. I always ate sensibly at Bubba's house unless she had her fridge full of grapefruits and pickles. Bubba had a way of preparing a grapefruit that would make anyone eat it. Especially because it had a mound of sugar on top. She was devastated when I stopped eating my grapefruit with sugar. She would watch in amazement as I ate an entire jar of pickles in one day (home made, of course). Grapefruit sections still bring me comfort and I can still hear her telling me to go easy on the pickles.
I'm not sure why I started thinking about my grandparents today - perhaps it's because I can feel them around me sometimes. Either way, I miss them to no end and I know parts of them will live on in our son.
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