Today, March 2nd, is your birthday. I have a memory of being a little girl and you telling me that you always had an easy time remembering your birthday because it was 3232…3/2/1932. Somehow out of all of my deceased grandparent’s birthdays that’s the one that stuck in my mind. And so on this day I always take a moment and think of you. I remember most your pot roast dinners, corn on the cob in the steaming hot New Jersey summers, your diamond rings & your amethyst bracelet, your daily crossword puzzles, stirring cream of wheat in a pot until it was perfectly smooth served with a pat of butter and a scant spoonful of sugar, your sewing room upstairs on the third floor that always smelled of fabric and sunlight. I could go on and on.

Inside of those memories I feel so much love that I think only a grandparent can give. Sharp tongued as she was she had a way of making sure we knew were loved whether it was through food or homemade dresses or gifting us odd antiques we always felt like princesses at Granny & Pop’s house. My childhood is filled with a dichotomy of memories from both poverty and privilege. We’d go visit Granny & Pop who lived in a gigantic Victorian house on Main Street in Medford, NJ at various times of the year. At Christmas every window in the house had an electric candle in it. In the summer she’d hang sheets out on the line and they would come in cool and crisp. We would sleep in canopy beds in frilly nightgowns and feel like princesses. I remember the day when we were old enough to be let info the front room before bed to watch a show. It was one of the fancier rooms of the house with a huge golden oriental rug, oil paintings on the walls, a silk upholstered camel back sofa, heavy drapes which she had made, and a TV in the nook next to the fireplace. The kind that was housed in a wooden encasement.

Almost all of my memories of her are in this magical house that she and my Poppy spent more than 50 years in. It was her pride and joy. Tonight, in thinking of her I got very emotional as all of my memories of her came flooding in. I’m at a point in my life where I could use a grandmother’s embrace, be given a cookie and tucked into bed to just sleep and cry as much as I need to. To have someone feed me and care for me like only a grandmother can do. I’m going through something excruciating and I could use the kind of respite that Grannies give. There are so many things I’d love to talk to her about like my favorite British series Downton Abbey. She and my Poppy instilled in me a love of British culture and history which I still am passionate about to this day. I wish I could have told her about my various trips to the UK & Ireland in my adult years and all the grand houses & castles I’ve explored on those trips. I know she would have loved to make dresses for my daughter had she been able to. I wish I could send her pictures of this sweet little town I live in all dressed up in white lights and snow. I know she’d have loved to see some of the massive Victorian homes on Main Street. Most of all I just wish I could give her one last hug.

I know that she would disapprove of some of the choices I’ve made, especially my tattoos, but overall I think she’d be proud of the person I’ve become even though I’ve made many mistakes in my life. Tonight I miss her deeply. I have a few items to remember her by…her silver, some jewelry, and the smallest of the three crystal chandeliers that used to hang in her beautiful home. Someday I hope to have a house where I can hang it and set up a proper dining room that would make her proud. In many ways I’m still looking for that place. Part of me thinks I will never find it, part of me still hopes that I will. I don’t have a picture of her, I wish that I did. Instead I have memories of a magical childhood stitched with love, pot roast, perfectly crisp sheets, and the twinkle of her blue eyes. I love you Granny, I miss you.