A Short Tale of Two Grandmothers
I find it interesting that even though I am along in my
years (i.e., mid 40’s and all) that a single sight, sound, or smell can
instantly transport me back in time many years. Case in point, I was out and
about a week ago, and in the midst of my meanderings in town, this little woman
crossed my path on her way to sit at her table. Without any reservation /
hesitation I thought to myself “well there goes Letha.” I had not thought of
her in years, but there her doppelganger was, passing right in front of my eyes
same sort of mussed up hair, familiar facial structure and those big glasses. I
immediately thought of her and my grandfather. You see Letha was my grandfather’s
second wife technically I guess she was my step-grandmother. I visually stalked her for a few moments, not
wanting to release her from my sight.
I never knew my biological maternal grandmother, Virginia.
She died one year and a day before I was born. I don’t have any pictures of her, although I
have seen a few that my mother and her sisters have squirreled away in their
photo albums. These are closely guarded mementos and access is severely limited
(that’s a whole other story) but from what I have seen, my mother strongly
resembles her. Virginia was a full figured woman, unlike my mother whose frame
more resembles my grandfather. Papaw Fitzpatrick was a tiny man. Was Virginia’s
maiden name Blake? Why don't I know this? I don’t really remember how my grandmother died, for some
strange reason as a child I somehow had it in my head that she died of cat scratch
fever. Most likely nonsense and perhaps someone told me this to keep me from
picking up strange animals and such. My mother was the youngest of seven
siblings, and was still in high school when her mother died. And approximately
a year after her mother dies; her own first child is born. I wonder what that
year was like for my mother; I can only compare it to my own experience of
losing my father while in college. The first year after his death was… well… if you have lost a parent, you have a
sense of what it was like. To say it was hard just doesn’t convey what it was
like to constantly think about this important figure in your life just not
being there anymore. All the religious and philosophical questionings and the
ache of missing someone you loved and someone who loved you just ebb and flow
like the tides, nothing is static. It must have been a hard time for my mother
and then a year from the death of her mother; she herself gives birth to her
son. Joyous and bittersweet? I don’t know, as this is something I would never
ask my mother, she is a very private person and the question is more than a
little intrusive I think. Still I wonder about this.
I wonder what it would have been like to have known
Virginia. What sort of lady was she? Was she quiet in nature like my
grandfather, or perhaps more vociferous like my mother and her siblings? Maybe
I’m just romanticizing how I remember my grandfather, but he always seemed to
me a kind and gentle man. I’ve been bothered since this sighting of doppelganger
Letha because I cannot remember how my grandfather’s voice sounded. I feel like
I should know this, but it eludes me. I’m growing older and although I’m sure
it’s in there somewhere, I cannot access it, and it feels like losing something
of importance. This is way of the world I guess.
Letha is the only grandmother I’ve known. I don’t think I
really understood that she wasn’t technically my grandmother until I was in
grade school. We were strongly dissuaded from calling her grandmother and it
was then we (my sisters and I) learned that this was Papaw’s second wife.
I remember her vividly as always dressed inher moo moo and house slippers.
Smoking her cigarettes and that raspy voice…going
to visit my Papaw Fitz in the winter meant that my dad, my Papaw and Letha
would all be smoking their cigarettes in a small shotgun house with all the
windows closed. I remember the haziness of the smoke in the air, Letha hacking
up a lung every now and then; she would roll the spittle to the edge of her
tongue and wipe it off with her Kleenex (thank you Brooke for reminding me of
this). My Papaw would have a handkerchief of his own and would wipe his nose
every now and then. Funny what you recall when you remember. I always see my
Papaw in a dress shirt and pants - always. Letha and her nightgowns/moo moos. She would give me a dime if
I would run down to the post office over the hill and pick up their mail for
them. My aunt Marie was the postmaster there, I can see her vividly behind the
little barred window handing me the mail. Letha would make peanut butter fudge,
always a favorite of mine as a child. And Papaw always rewarded me mowing his yard
with a Frostie's rootbeer ice cream float.
What was their story? All I know was that she was their next
door neighbor (from directly behind their house I think). She was not overly affectionate to us
grandkids, but then I think her relationship with my mom, aunts and uncle was
not overly affectionate as well. In my mind there was always some underlying
tension in the house. I didn’t understand this as a child, but it makes more
sense now as an adult. Relationships are always treacherous things and not everything
is as sun shiny and bright as they are on the Brady Bunch. Everyone did the
best they could I guess. Regardless, I remember her with fondness, and this
ghostly sighting made me miss her and my grandfather. I wish I could have known
Virginia, but I didn’t. Letha was surrogate but my grandmother none the less.
years (i.e., mid 40’s and all) that a single sight, sound, or smell can
instantly transport me back in time many years. Case in point, I was out and
about a week ago, and in the midst of my meanderings in town, this little woman
crossed my path on her way to sit at her table. Without any reservation /
hesitation I thought to myself “well there goes Letha.” I had not thought of
her in years, but there her doppelganger was, passing right in front of my eyes
same sort of mussed up hair, familiar facial structure and those big glasses. I
immediately thought of her and my grandfather. You see Letha was my grandfather’s
second wife technically I guess she was my step-grandmother. I visually stalked her for a few moments, not
wanting to release her from my sight.
I never knew my biological maternal grandmother, Virginia.
She died one year and a day before I was born. I don’t have any pictures of her, although I
have seen a few that my mother and her sisters have squirreled away in their
photo albums. These are closely guarded mementos and access is severely limited
(that’s a whole other story) but from what I have seen, my mother strongly
resembles her. Virginia was a full figured woman, unlike my mother whose frame
more resembles my grandfather. Papaw Fitzpatrick was a tiny man. Was Virginia’s
maiden name Blake? Why don't I know this? I don’t really remember how my grandmother died, for some
strange reason as a child I somehow had it in my head that she died of cat scratch
fever. Most likely nonsense and perhaps someone told me this to keep me from
picking up strange animals and such. My mother was the youngest of seven
siblings, and was still in high school when her mother died. And approximately
a year after her mother dies; her own first child is born. I wonder what that
year was like for my mother; I can only compare it to my own experience of
losing my father while in college. The first year after his death was… well… if you have lost a parent, you have a
sense of what it was like. To say it was hard just doesn’t convey what it was
like to constantly think about this important figure in your life just not
being there anymore. All the religious and philosophical questionings and the
ache of missing someone you loved and someone who loved you just ebb and flow
like the tides, nothing is static. It must have been a hard time for my mother
and then a year from the death of her mother; she herself gives birth to her
son. Joyous and bittersweet? I don’t know, as this is something I would never
ask my mother, she is a very private person and the question is more than a
little intrusive I think. Still I wonder about this.
I wonder what it would have been like to have known
Virginia. What sort of lady was she? Was she quiet in nature like my
grandfather, or perhaps more vociferous like my mother and her siblings? Maybe
I’m just romanticizing how I remember my grandfather, but he always seemed to
me a kind and gentle man. I’ve been bothered since this sighting of doppelganger
Letha because I cannot remember how my grandfather’s voice sounded. I feel like
I should know this, but it eludes me. I’m growing older and although I’m sure
it’s in there somewhere, I cannot access it, and it feels like losing something
of importance. This is way of the world I guess.
Letha is the only grandmother I’ve known. I don’t think I
really understood that she wasn’t technically my grandmother until I was in
grade school. We were strongly dissuaded from calling her grandmother and it
was then we (my sisters and I) learned that this was Papaw’s second wife.
I remember her vividly as always dressed inher moo moo and house slippers.
Smoking her cigarettes and that raspy voice…going
to visit my Papaw Fitz in the winter meant that my dad, my Papaw and Letha
would all be smoking their cigarettes in a small shotgun house with all the
windows closed. I remember the haziness of the smoke in the air, Letha hacking
up a lung every now and then; she would roll the spittle to the edge of her
tongue and wipe it off with her Kleenex (thank you Brooke for reminding me of
this). My Papaw would have a handkerchief of his own and would wipe his nose
every now and then. Funny what you recall when you remember. I always see my
Papaw in a dress shirt and pants - always. Letha and her nightgowns/moo moos. She would give me a dime if
I would run down to the post office over the hill and pick up their mail for
them. My aunt Marie was the postmaster there, I can see her vividly behind the
little barred window handing me the mail. Letha would make peanut butter fudge,
always a favorite of mine as a child. And Papaw always rewarded me mowing his yard
with a Frostie's rootbeer ice cream float.
What was their story? All I know was that she was their next
door neighbor (from directly behind their house I think). She was not overly affectionate to us
grandkids, but then I think her relationship with my mom, aunts and uncle was
not overly affectionate as well. In my mind there was always some underlying
tension in the house. I didn’t understand this as a child, but it makes more
sense now as an adult. Relationships are always treacherous things and not everything
is as sun shiny and bright as they are on the Brady Bunch. Everyone did the
best they could I guess. Regardless, I remember her with fondness, and this
ghostly sighting made me miss her and my grandfather. I wish I could have known
Virginia, but I didn’t. Letha was surrogate but my grandmother none the less.