Gran

Friday, Oct. 03, 2003 - 1:05 a.m.

It is the morning of Friday, October 3rd, 2003. I'm sitting here in my living room. It was a grey day in San Francisco, at least in the part of it where I live. I'm wearing a t-shirt, and blue pajama bottoms. This is what I slept in last night, and I just took a shower. In a few minutes, I'm going to bed.

My maternal grandmother died Thursday evening. Marie Coldicutt Taylor would have been 91 on December 23rd.

Died. Died. It's such a tiny little word.

And I guess it's the one that people believe the least when they hear it.

I miss my Mom right now. I hope she was waiting for Gran when she got there. I miss my grandfather, whom we called Pa Pa. I miss Uncle Joe, too. And as my regular readers know, I miss Dad.

My grandmother lived a good long life. Her husband went first, then, horribly, her daughter, and finally, her baby brother, whom she raised from the age of two and who thought of her as his mother. She'd lost her own mother when she was ten. Her favorite song was "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. She also liked the song "Amen" as it was performed by Sidney Poitier in the movie 'Lillies of the Field'. And "Your Mama Don't Dance" by Loggins and Messina.

The neighborhood will sing her praises. Most of the people there have known her for at least twenty years. Most are immigrants who settled here in California, and had to leave their own precious abuelas behind. She was the only one they knew as such.

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Tears. Some, anyway. But oddly enough, what's happening more... is laughter.

After we received the news, I called Scott Hysmith as per his request. He was charming and sympathetic as no man should ever be who's been called with such news at one-thirty in the morning his local time. After he hung up, I logged on and saw that Paul Schultz was logged into AIM with no away message. So I IMed Paul Schultz.

I told him what had happened. He responded immediately, and he said he was so sorry, and asked a bunch of tender and concerned questions. Did she go peacefully? Who was with her? How are you holding up? And finally, did I want to go voice? -- I said yes. So... when I called him, and he picked up -- the first thing I did was sing "She'd been drinking too much eggnog...we both begged her not to go..." and he muttered "That's just wrong. You're sick and twisted."

And I said "Well, yeah. But that's why you adore me."

Paul pondered this a moment. "No comment," he muttered, which I've come to find out is Paulspeak for "Yes, you're right, but you're out of your tree if you think I'm admitting anything to you." And then we both laughed, and it was cathartic and refreshing and just somehow, utterly appropriate. Well, it was his own blabba fraggin fault anyway, for bringing up that song in the first place. But it's cool. Paul got razzed, and he took it like a man. :)

The choice as I see it as far as outbursty cathartic things go when you have a bunch of emotion to deal with, you can send it out into the universe one of three ways: 1) Laughter 2) Crying 3) Orgasm.

Obviously, two of those are not an option at the formal memorial service. And if any wags out there ask which two, I'm gonna reach through the web and smack you with a rolled-up newspaper.

But it's said that laughter heals. I think this is true.

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Remember the other day when I showed you what was in my drawers? There was something else in there that I didn't write about.

I found a cassette in the bottom left drawer of the credenza. It was among my mother's things that were given to me a few years after she passed away in the spring of 1995. It contains an audio recording of my third birthday party.

Uncle Joe had always been the gadget guru in the family. He was into shortwave, he once owned a radio station, and when he finally worked up the nerve to buy himself a never-before-owned vehicle, he bought a Cadillac with every automatic function imaginable built in. So he showed up at my third birthday party with a cassette deck and a big silver microphone on a stand, and he taped me, and all of the people at the party.

My mother, my father, Gran, Pa Pa, Uncle Joe, and me.

As of 7:30 local time on Thursday, October 2, 2003, of the voices on that cassette...

...I am now the only person left.

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My brother Jon Taylor Landerman was there for her final moments. He held her as she passed.

He said it was like turning down a dimmer switch.

He and Shelly and their kids are now staying at Gran's house, and I hope they stay there until the estate is settled. They're gonna be up to their ears in food by the end of the day, and the house will be full of loved ones.

I also spoke for a while to Jamie, about an hour or so before I posted this here. He's worked at nursing homes, and been present when so many people pass -- he said it's always been a privelege to help people do that. And in a way, I understand.

And then I logged back on to write this post, and ran into fellow Diarylander BoogityX2 in IMs, who when it comes to coping mechanisms, is apparently a kindered spirit. And it's just a year nearly to the day since his -own- grandma assumed room temperature. Dag, yo!

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It is my friend Todd Thalimer's birthday. He shares this day with Lindsay Buckingham, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Neve Campbell, Al Sharpton, Gore Vidal, and the inventor of the propellor beanie, Ray Faraday Nelson.

I hope you have a wonderful day, my friend. Thank you for nearly a decade of friendship.

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I'll play Friday Five next week. But the rest of y'all, go ahead. :)

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This is a picture of me, taken about six months prior to my third birthday. I remember this day. I'm standing in Gran & Pa Pa's front yard. Gran had curled my hair and put it up in a little ponytail, and she even made the red dress I wore that day.

If I could ask a small favor of you today -- please hold me in your heart the way I'm holding my doll.

I'll know you're doing it.

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6 of my readers commented on this entry

onewetleg - 2003-10-03 04:22:18
my condolences. i never know what to say at times like this. im just sorry. take care, jj
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Dana - 2003-10-03 05:44:42
I just have tears running down my face. I'm such a Nana's girl and the thought of anyone losing their gran is just too much. Know that in this vast universe, I'm sending healing, soothing vibes to you. I wish you peace.
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Cheri - 2003-10-03 10:33:24
I'm checking in now from college, but wanted to send my sympathy to you. I'm so sorry for your loss :( I'll call you this weekend. I love you!
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Todd - 2003-10-03 17:25:59
My condolences go out to you! Hope you are doing well, friend!
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Dani - 2003-10-03 21:49:07
Hey. I'm really sorry to hear about your grandmother. I'm losing mine too. It's pretty rough. *huggles*
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Jamie - Glistening Star of the East - 2003-10-04 02:00:09
I'm off to bed. I'm sorry I missed you this evening. I know that you know that if you need me, I am here. I hold you here in my heart every day; and in a way -- sometimes it's just the thing I need to help me muddle through this thing called life. I love you very, very much. Always, Jamie
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