I rang the doorbell and waited eagerly on the steps of the back porch. I stood on my tip toes my bow barely peeking over the bottom of the door to see through the screen on top. I see my grandma walk quickly through the kitchen and to the back door to let me in. “Good morning Gigi, how are you doing today,” I say as I enter the house and sit at my usual place at the raised counter. She stands on the other side, she was a small woman only about five foot four, but to me she was a grand authority figure and someone I looked up to. She had big beautiful curls in her hair even though it was all white. She was wearing a pink dress with white trim, and a white sweater, she was always put together. “Good morning Angie” she says to me with a smile. I was there to bake cookies with her, something I had done many times before and one of my favorite pastimes as child. We washed our hands at her wide white sink as I rambled on about something that happened to me in school the previous week. We moved to our usual place at the marble counter and began the recipe. My grandma talked to me as we baked, telling me stories of when she was young and her many tales of adventure spent with grandpa. I had never met him as he had died right before I was born, but she talked about him all the time. She told me stories of when they first got together, when they met on the beach in Rockaway and that she loved him more than anything else in the world. She said that she always knew they were perfect for each other and just waited until the time was right. She told me about their wedding and how it was the perfect day. They were the type of stories that I thought only existed in old movies, but she had lived it and this was her story. She made everything into an elaborate drama with her loud voice and the occasional interjection yelled in Italian while she looked at the ceiling. I didn’t realize it then because I was only eight years old but they were the things that I would remember most about my grandma, the stories of when she was living the perfect life.
At the end of the day I was reluctant to leave. I had been there for almost 12 hours and had loved every minute of it. We had laughed and talked and had so much fun that im surprised we had any breath left in us at the end of the day. I was getting ready to go and I said goodbye. “I love you Gigi thanks so much for having me today.” She smiled at me and opened her arms wide as if to hug me and then she said, “Angie how much do I love you? “ I mimicked her motions and opened my arms as wide as I could “This much!!” I replied trying to make my arms as wide as possible. She nodded at me and gave me a big hug. “I’ll see you soon Angie,” and watched me walk out the door.
The next morning I walked clumsily down the stairs with my stuffed lamb in hand, barely awake. I walked into the kitchen and I saw them. My mom and my dad were sitting at the kitchen table, my mom in tears and my dad trying to console her. He rushed over to me and picked me up. He told me he had something to tell me. Apparently my grandmother had suffered a stroke late last night and was currently in the hospital. He told me that he hoped we could go visit her soon but wasn’t sure when that would be. I was in shock. I didn’t say anything just looked into his eyes and hoped that it wasn’t true. He put me down. I ran back to my room. He called after me but I didn’t look back. I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I just sat in my room and thought. I thought back to yesterday when everything was as it should be and I cried. I was only eight so I didn’t really understand what was happening, but I knew it wasn’t good. I tried to block it out to just escape into my little world of animals and rainbows where everything was happy and smiles. We went to visit a couple of days later. She was not herself in that hospital. She looked frail and broken. She could barely put a sentence together. It was painful for me to see. I wanted to run away again but my dad held my hand for support. She motioned me over and I just stood there holding her hand which was twice the size of mine. I just smiled at her trying to tell her that she had to get better and that this had to work out for the best because this was unfair and should not happen. Of course I didn’t say any of that out loud for fear of causing a problem. So I just smiled and held her hand. When we returned home I was confused and angry. This shouldn’t be happening, she was not sick and frail, she was strong and loud and could do anything. This was not right.
My grandmother did not die for another five months. But to me she did. She was never the same. It was like the shell of her was still there but everything inside was gone. She has lost all her ways. From her little jokes here and there to the way that her eyes sparkled when she smiled. It was like she wasn’t there, she only sat and looked into the distance and she rarely spoke. It was heartbreaking especially at the young age of eight. Now many years later I understand what she did for me. She wanted to share the stories of her life with me before it was too late. She wanted to tell me everything she could to make up for the fact that she was deteriorating from the inside out. This was the best gift anyone could have given me and something that can never be replaced. I still think about her all the time and wish every day that I could go back to that day, the last day when she was herself and was able to bake with me and laugh with me. I think back to that day all the time, the last good day.