On the great-grandmother I never met
Growing up, Genrietta Davydovna, my great-grandmother on my mom's side, the woman my mother was named after, was larger-than-life. The lead character in one of the most popular Soviet children's musicals/movies was named after her. Soviet playwrights and poets wrote tongue-in-cheek romantic poems in her honor (tongue-in-cheek because they supposedly didn't really mean the romantic parts). When she was sent to the labor camp, Drmitri freaking Shostakovich campaigned on her behalf - which is why, by the way, she has an entry on the Harvard University Library's websitehttp://oasis.lib.harvard.edu/oasis/deliver/~hou02158.
She died two years before my mom was born, which may have reinforced this larger than life feeling. I knew Grandma Valya and Grandpa Vitya, my great-grandparents on my dad's side, and I visited them often enough. I vaguely remember Grandpa Fedya, my mom's grandfather on her mom's side - I was very young when he died, but I've tried to hold on to the few bits of memory of the one time I remember meeting him.
I've hard other people talk about Genretta Davydovna, I visited her grave... but she wasn't quite as real to me as my other great-grandparents were. She was family - but she was a family in a more abstract way, the way some of my more distant ancestors were.
That is, until Grandpa Slava's death.
A few days after I got back from the funeral, I went looking for his parents. I came across viktor_krysov's post I referenced earlier. I was thinking of putting a comment about how nice it was to read about my great-grandmother.
And then it hit me.
For the first time in my life, it hit me. The full implications of what that actually meant. She was my great-grandmother, just as much of a great-grandmother and Grandma Valya.
Even if she lived longer, she probably wouldn't be alive today. But when I was six, she would have been 88. I might have still had a chance to meet her. I might have still had a chance to get to know her. I might have seen her at family gatherings in our tiny apartment. I might have been making March 8 cards for her the way I made them for Grandma Kima, Grandma Nina and my mom. I might have gone to her apartment to celebrate her birthday.
She wouldn't have been the distant Gentrietta Davydovna. She would have been Grandma Grunya.
What would she have thought of the little stories I wrote in little notebooks? Would she have been charmed by all the stories I used to rattle off at the drop of a hat? Would she have chided me for my not that good penmanship? Would she have let me read books from her bookshelf (and, knowing how her children and her other family members turned out, I don't doubt she would've had some bookshelves).
And maybe, when I got older... if she was alive, I'm not sure I would ever quite bring myself to ask her what it was like in labor camps, but I would have loved to talk to her about the writers she's known, the people she met, the historical events she lived through.
What would you have thought of me, Grandma Grunya?
Would you be proud of me?
Maybe somewhere, in some other parallel universe, some version of me would know the answers. But me, all I have are other people's memories, and photos that capture her, forever young, and the little buts of information on the internet...And the brave, strong-willed Princess Genrietta from Evgeny Schwartz's The Emperor's New Clothes.
I keep thinking that, whenever I wind up making it back to St. Petersburg, I'll have a lot of graves to visit. Petya. Grandma Kima. Grandpa Vitya and Grandma Valya. I'm not sure I'll be able to fit any more... but I would like to try to visit Grandma Grunya's grave.
And this time, I would like to bring her flowers.
She died two years before my mom was born, which may have reinforced this larger than life feeling. I knew Grandma Valya and Grandpa Vitya, my great-grandparents on my dad's side, and I visited them often enough. I vaguely remember Grandpa Fedya, my mom's grandfather on her mom's side - I was very young when he died, but I've tried to hold on to the few bits of memory of the one time I remember meeting him.
I've hard other people talk about Genretta Davydovna, I visited her grave... but she wasn't quite as real to me as my other great-grandparents were. She was family - but she was a family in a more abstract way, the way some of my more distant ancestors were.
That is, until Grandpa Slava's death.
A few days after I got back from the funeral, I went looking for his parents. I came across viktor_krysov's post I referenced earlier. I was thinking of putting a comment about how nice it was to read about my great-grandmother.
And then it hit me.
For the first time in my life, it hit me. The full implications of what that actually meant. She was my great-grandmother, just as much of a great-grandmother and Grandma Valya.
Even if she lived longer, she probably wouldn't be alive today. But when I was six, she would have been 88. I might have still had a chance to meet her. I might have still had a chance to get to know her. I might have seen her at family gatherings in our tiny apartment. I might have been making March 8 cards for her the way I made them for Grandma Kima, Grandma Nina and my mom. I might have gone to her apartment to celebrate her birthday.
She wouldn't have been the distant Gentrietta Davydovna. She would have been Grandma Grunya.
What would she have thought of the little stories I wrote in little notebooks? Would she have been charmed by all the stories I used to rattle off at the drop of a hat? Would she have chided me for my not that good penmanship? Would she have let me read books from her bookshelf (and, knowing how her children and her other family members turned out, I don't doubt she would've had some bookshelves).
And maybe, when I got older... if she was alive, I'm not sure I would ever quite bring myself to ask her what it was like in labor camps, but I would have loved to talk to her about the writers she's known, the people she met, the historical events she lived through.
What would you have thought of me, Grandma Grunya?
Would you be proud of me?
Maybe somewhere, in some other parallel universe, some version of me would know the answers. But me, all I have are other people's memories, and photos that capture her, forever young, and the little buts of information on the internet...And the brave, strong-willed Princess Genrietta from Evgeny Schwartz's The Emperor's New Clothes.
I keep thinking that, whenever I wind up making it back to St. Petersburg, I'll have a lot of graves to visit. Petya. Grandma Kima. Grandpa Vitya and Grandma Valya. I'm not sure I'll be able to fit any more... but I would like to try to visit Grandma Grunya's grave.
And this time, I would like to bring her flowers.