Rest in Peace, Grandma Kima
"To All My Children: Grandma Kima"
The second I saw that subject line, I braced myself for the worst. I hoped against hope that it would say that she's very sick, that she is not dead, but between her age and her deteriorating health, I knew that the e-mail would say it was something much more final.
But even knowing what was coming didn't prepare me for actually seeing those words with my own eyes.
Grandma Kima is dead.
Kima Davydovna Nemkovskaya wasn't actually my grandmother (she was my grandfather's cousin), but she has been such a constant presence in my life when I was growing up that she might as well have been one. She lived relatively close to our old apartment, in an apartment building right by the shore of the Gulf of Finland. My mom and I would come there often. Most of the large family parties were held at either our apartment or Grandma Kima's. I spent a lot of holidays at her place. I think I might have even celebrated a birthday there once. So many happy childhood memories are tied to that place. Reading the books from Grandma Kima's extensive collection. Watching cartoons on her bed. Running along the shore, both by myself and with my siblings. Drawing and playing. Watching the sunsets from her living room windows. I will always remember those sunsets.
Before she retired, Grandma Kima worked as a proofreader for a children's book publisher. As I learned to read, I'd always look at the credit, and finding her name always brought a jolt of delight. Just knowing that she worked on those books made them that much awesomer.
In a way, Grandma Kima shaped my entire childhood.
And now she's gone.
Grandma Kima was a caring person. She always fussed over everyone, always tried to make sure everyone was comfortable. She always wanted to know how everyone was doing and was happy to hear us talk about our accomplishments. Even when she was a bit out of her depth, she at least tried to listen.
The last time I saw her, I was visiting Russia with Lore. At the time, I was so excited to show Lore around that I didn't realize just how overwhelming the experience was for her. For me, this was homecoming. But for Lore, it was a strange place where everybody spoke a language she couldn't understand and so many things weren't familiar.
When Grandma Kima met Lore, one of first questions was "How are you doing? Is everything okay?"
And Lore, shocked and touched, was quick to tell her that sure, everything was fine. But I'm pretty sure Grandma Kima didn't buy it. Because later, Grandma Kima told me not to drag Lore around too much.
"You don't have to see everything, you know."
And I realized that she was right.
That's the kind of person Grandma Kima was. That's how I'll always remember her.
Goodbye, Grandma Kima. I'll miss you for as long as I live. And, whenever I read classical works, I will think of you. Because, if nothing else, I know that I'd love it if I kept reading good books.
Вечная память