Unicorn on the cob.

It doesn’t feel right to say this, because it still hasn’t quite hit me. But my grandmother who I was very close to passed away on April 3rd. She was the only one I had left, and the only one I was ever close to. I only ever knew one of my grandfathers, and he passed when I was very young. My other grandmother passed a few years after that. My grandmother [who I called Nana] had been living in Nevada with my Uncle. But when I was younger she lived just a few miles from me, in the house my mom grew up in for the most part. Every day after school from elementary up until High School I’d go to her house. I used to have my birthday parties there, because my birthday falls in June and she had a pool. When she moved, we developed a habit of writing letters to each other very frequently. when this started I was still in my ‘obsessed with any and everything Britney Spears’, and she read The Enquirer and other rag mags nearly every day. Whenever she’d see photos, no matter how tiny, of Britney she’d cut them out for me and send them with her letters. I’ve saved every letter she ever sent.

But the main reason for this blog entry is because of a gift. Something myself and my mom were completely clueless about before a few days ago. After my grandmother passed, my uncles collected some belongings from her room they thought might be sentimental or of interest to my mom and I. Among these items [most of which were journals and journals FILLED with hand written recipes. Literally hundreds, possibly thousands.] was a journal. A simple journal, not unlike one you’d see at Borders or Barnes & Noble. Until you open it. On the inside cover on the left side is a note written in my moms writing. It says, “To Mom. Christmas 1988”. Then you shift your eyes to the right, and there’s another note. This one reads, “To Jamie, Here are some mementos from your Nana. I hope you treasure and heed these sayings I have put in this book for you. I love you bigger than the ocean. Love, Nana. June 1989”

The first page she tells me a short story about one Christmas when she was 9 years old. It ends with this moral value: “If you want something bad enough, wish and work hard and you’ll eventually get it if it’s within reason.”

The next few pages tell of similar stories from her childhood, she describes the personalities of my mom and grandfather at certain ages, and gives me some great advice. For a few pages after that she kept track of her favorite quotes she wanted to share to inspire me. Such as “Don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t if you really know you can. Go for it. At least they can’t say you didn’t try.”

She then adds a couple of her favorite recipes mixed in with some more inspirational sayings.

Then she turns it into somewhat of a diary, to me. The first ‘diary’ entry she wrote begins with this; “Today August 8th, 1995 your father passed away.” None of the diary entries are much longer than a page with the exception of one or two. She kept track of things for me, chronologically. September 11, 2001 she wrote what time the towers were hit, what time they fell and when the other planes crashed. She wrote on November 17, 2002 “Well today I’m 74 years old and you are auditioning at the Rose Bowl for ‘American Idol’. I wish you all the luck in the world. I know you will do your best. Good luck.”

She didn’t update it often, in fact there are only 2 small updates and a recipe separating that last entry from the one on her following birthday. But she kept it constant. She started it in June of 1989 and wrote the last entry on January 16, 2008. She kept this journal for nearly 20 years, obviously knowing some day I would be reading it.

I can’t find words to describe the feeling I have of knowing she did this for me. It’s the best gift I have ever received. I’ve only skimmed through it and read just a few pages because I don’t want to race through something this meaningful to me. I will only be reading it bit by bit. Just the way she wrote it.

I could not have asked for a better grandmother. I miss her more than words, and yet I don’t even feel like she’s gone. Part of me wants to still pick up a pen and write her a letter. Another part of me wants to call her cell phone and have her say ‘buffet’ for me [which she pronounced ‘boofay’]. I guess it’s bound to hit me sooner or later. I just wish it had been later. Much later.

Goodbye Nana. I love you bigger than the ocean.

xoxo