The Shape of Grief
My paternal grandmother died 13 years ago. Her name was Marion. Actually, we only called her “Grandmother.” although as formal as that sounds, she was not as such. A bit of a hippie, was one of the most quintessential DIYers you could think of, made ridiculously delicious lemon desserts (if only I appreciated them as a 7 year-old), and had a background in social work. I adored her very much. Our daughter’s middle name is her maiden name – and so she carries on. Unfortunately, all 4 of my grandparents have passed away. And they did so within a similar timeframe of just about two years of one another. I remember where I was when I heard (or suspected) the news of each of their deaths: in my college dormitory; driving home solo 7 hours from NY-ME in a snowstorm; in my childhood living room; alone in my apartment. The same month that my last grandparent died, my future father-in-law did, too. I bring these memories up for a couple r...