Legacies

My heart is aching for one of my favorite bloggers today, Kirby. Kirby's mom passed away, and I know for certain how much that hurts. It made me reflect on my mom's death back in 2006. I've blogged about it so many times. I guess when something so profound happens in your life it marks you. It stays forever.

I was digging through my heart searching for words to express my condolences to Kirby... which is a fruitless effort, since there's nothing anyone can say to someone that has lost a loved one that will ease their pain. It made me think about my grandma. I learned so much from her life and her death.

You may be expecting a tribute here. If you are, you are in for a surprise.

First, a little background.

My biological paternal grandmother died when my dad was only 9 years old. My dad was raised by a combination of his father and his aunt. Back in the late 1930's there were minimal expectations from a single dad, and my grandpa lived his life accordingly. Don't get me wrong, I don't blame him or harbor ill feelings toward him, but I know that he didn't always make my dad a priority. My dad never talked about his childhood unless he was speaking about his uncles and cousins the visited on the family farm in Missouri. I imagine that dad didn't like to think about his childhood much, but that he had shared his deep feelings with mom in private moments. So I learned about his childhood from my mom. Mom told me about how grandpa occasionally left my dad in the local cafe, and paid the waitress to keep an eye on him when he went to gamble. She told me how he could describe the undersides of the tables in vivid detail. She said my dad had very faint memories of his mom saying that some day they might go live without his dad. Who knows if she would really have ever left grandpa. She died of complications from gall bladder surgery.

My grandpa did his best for the times. He worked in Hawaii in the shipyards, he raised chickens in the basement at some point (I don't know why the basement, but I remember there was a reason), he became a barber at some point. Grandpa hung out in taverns, and that is where he met his second wife, and the woman that I always knew as my paternal grandma. Her name was Norma.

Norma was the daughter of a local tavern owner. The tavern was called Bailey's. Maude Bailey was the owner. As I understand it, Maudy was a tough old bird. There was covert gambling in the basement, and she was somewhat a pawn broker or loan shark, too. It was a small town. My maternal grandpa, from the same town, used to say, "That Maude Bailey would steal from a blind man."

I'm not sure exactly how the process went, but grandpa ended up dating Norma. My guess is that he met her at the tavern. They were in their 40's or 50's and Norma was a spinster. She was a rarity for the times as she had established a career for herself as a typesetter at the local newspaper. She actually did that job until she retired in the early 1970's. Norma wasn't a pretty woman, nor was she particularly feminine. She came by her looks honestly, Maudy wasn't a looker, either. Both women were smart and tough, though.

Physical appearance wasn't the only unattractive feature Norma got from Maudy. Norma was a selfish, spoiled brat. The only person on earth that Norma thought was more important than Norma was Norma's brother. It was a weird thing. I think Norma grew up hearing about how wonderful her baby brother was, so it stuck. She spoke of him as if he was a child, even when they were both old, old, old people. And when both my grandpa and her brother became ill at around the same time, Norma chose to put my grandpa in a home so that she could take care of her baby brother at home. Norma worshipped her baby brother until he died an old man, at home, with her. Yeah, it was weird.

After grandpa and Norma's brother died, Norma lived alone. My parents were retired by then, so they would try to provide her with some company and family connection. It wasn't easy. She was an insufferable crank. She bitched about everyone and everything, just as she had her entire life. She rarely had a good thing to say about anyone.

I was born after she and grandpa were married, so Norma liked me. I was the nearest thing that she ever came to having a child or grandchild of her own. Sadly, that only lasted until she stuck her nose into the middle of an argument between Mr. Ex and me. I snapped at her and she never forgot it. I was added to her very long list of enemies.

My mom was probably the only person that Norma didn't have a fight with. The only reason for that was because mom made a promise to herself that she would never do it. Mom refused to argue or fight with Norma about anything. Norma tried hard to pick a fight with mom. She would dig at her and insult her - not constantly, but certainly whenever Norma was in the mood. Mom wouldn't bite. Not ever. Talk about personal victories. That was a fine accomplishment, mom!

In the end Norma "loved" mom. I say "loved" because I'm not sure that "love" is the right word, but it was the only way Norma loved. She was nasty, cantankerous, and greedy. I think what she said when she was dying describes her best. When she was dying she said, "I don't want to die. I don't want to leave my things."

Yeah, Norma had things. Lots of things. She had things from her grandmother, things from her mother, things from the tavern, things she had acquired and even things that were collateral for loans her mom made. She had things and more things. She had china, crystal, silver, collectibles, and more. Her mother and she were talented seamstresses. They did beautiful needlework and quilting. There were hand stitched linens, needlepoint seat cushions, and mahogany furniture that was in mint condition. Everything was in mint condition regardless of its age. Why? Because the woman was a beast! Being in her house was frightening! One false move and she would take your head off.

Norma was selfish with her things, too. After family gatherings she would have someone wash the dishes and dry while she counted the silver. I'd like to think that she was making sure none were thrown out my mistake, but it's hard so say she wasn't making sure none of us took a piece. The silver is a particularly interesting item for me personally, since she gave specific instructions to my mom that I should never get it. I pissed Norma off once, so she didn't want my mom to ever give me the silver.

Norma died. Not surprisingly, she had to leave her things behind.

My poor parents. They had garage sales, they gave stuff to me (including the silver, ha!), mom put stuff in consignment shops... the stuff just wouldn't go away! It still doesn't go away. I have a bunch of it. Well, except for the mahogany dining room set. Mr. Ex wanted that in the divorce. Meh, good riddens!

The big difference with all the 'things' now is that they are not worshipped. Sure, some of the stuff is nice, but it is just stuff. It needs to be stored, displayed, cleaned, packed, moved... so much energy for what? Stuff and things. There have been times when something was broken, and honestly, sometimes it feels like a relief!

What does all this have to do with Kirby, her mom, my mom, etc? Everything.

While searching for something to say to Kirby I reflected a bit. I remembered what I've learned from Norma contrasted with what I learned from my mom - who are both gone. We all leave a mark when we leave this world. We all chose what the nature of that mark will be. Norma left a mark. I didn't hate Norma, but I'll always remember her the way I have described her. She wasn't a happy person. She couldn't give. She couldn't love. She worshipped things. Sad, really. I'm sure it says volumes about how she felt about herself, and I wonder what hell she lived that made her feel that way, but it doesn't really matter does it?

My mom left a different kind of mark, and it sounds like Kirby's mom left one that is similar in nature. When I think of my mom the absolute last thing I think about is "things" or stuff. I don't remember any of the cross words we certainly shared as mother and daughter. I don't think about her personal struggles or any problems she or we had. When I think of mom I feel warmth, unconditional love, and a tinge of hurt in my heart, because I still long for one more laugh, one more hug, one more conversation.

These two women taught me about the nature of legacies. I learned that we chose our legacy every day. Our legacy is reflected in our daily choices and behavior, and if we are lucky enough to have kids, it is likely reflected in some of their behaviors, too. I don't think about my legacy every single day, but I'm glad that, in general, I have a good idea about what I want people to feel when they remember me someday. I sure hope they don't think about my stuff, and if they blog about me, I hope they can say some better stuff than I have said about Norma.

Thanks, Norma; and bigger thanks to you, Mom.