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Inspiration July 6, 2018
You're the strongest woman I know.
We all have role models, whether it be celebrities or family members we look up to for one reason or another. We see a quality in them that we hope to emulate in ourselves. Through their words and actions, they inspire us to be the best version of ourselves.
I look up to my grandma. She will always be the strongest woman I know, both physically and emotionally. As an immigrant from Germany, she navigated through the ever-confusing American world while raising a family, and later while taking care of my siblings and myself.
Here’s a letter to my Omi, saying everything that I wish she could understand now.
It’s been a long while since we last talked. I mean really talked. I see you often, but our conversations just aren’t the same. It’s been about six years since you were diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
When I first heard, I didn’t understand what that really meant. What was going to happen to you? I think a piece of me didn’t want to accept the fact that you were about to change. That the strongest woman I knew would become so feeble.
Your strength has always astounded me. You were like a mighty lion, willing to do anything to protect and sustain those you loved the most. I remember how you would shake my hand. Your grip left my hand numb. Whenever I tried match your mighty force, you struck back twice as hard.
Learning about your former life in Communist Germany has given me more perspective. I now understand your temperament, your reactions, your gruffness. Earlier this year I first sought out more information on you. You wouldn’t be able to tell me your life history, so I acquired information from my mom and your husband. When you came over to babysit, my brothers and I always begged my mom to stay home from work. You made us clean the house, when all we wanted to do was play in the sun. Your vacuum of cleanliness sucked up our tornado of a mess.
My brother gave me a tip for avoiding your housekeeping frenzy. He told me to act busy. That way when you looked for us, you would see we already had a task. I didn’t pick the best job to distract you, but it worked. I rode my tricycle around the backyard while my brother pretended to sweep. When you suddenly busted through the back door, I jolted with shock and tried my best to avoid eye contact. You snatched my brother up to make him dust the banister. As he was hauled away into the great unknown, his countenance changed from pleasant to disdainful. I always kept myself busy from that point on.
Life with you wasn’t always serious. You didn’t always make us clean the house, and you weren’t always yelling. My favorite days were when you picked me up from school. Your car was blistering, because you refused to turn on the air conditioning, saying it would only waste the gas.
When I questioned you about not wearing a seatbelt, you told me it was invisible. I always believed you, because you were the wisest person I knew. All of the time spent in the sweltering car was worth it when you took me to 7-Eleven. You let me get the smallest Slurpee and a bag of chips. After that, the car ride home became so much sweeter.
Our last adventure was in the summer of 2012. Of course, we didn’t know this would be our last time. We treated it the same as any other day. I remember we took your first selfie, my memory immortalized in a grainy shot forever.
People always say their grandparents are their greatest supporters. You were no exception to this, even though your support could come across as unconventional. You gave constructive criticism that was hard to comprehend as a child, but I wish I had it now.
Somehow, you knew everything about any activity I participated in, or at least you pretended to. When I played softball, you helped me not be afraid of the ball. When I took up dance, you sat through my performances. You were never afraid to voice your opinion, even when it was brutally honest.
It hurt to hear that you hated my pretty, pink princess outfit, when I worked so hard to pick it out myself. I understand now that your disdain came from your upbringing. You grew up in a time and place that discouraged frivolity, like playing princess. My dress seemed facetious and unrealistic to you.
The progression of your disease happened slowly but quickly, all at the same time. When I think about your disease, it’s like watching the time on the clock tick away. Each second feels like an hour and each minute feels like a day. Conversely, when I take the time to reflect on how you were before being diagnosed, the time seems to have fluttered away, like the bat of an eyelash.
I’ve learned more about you. I have sought out second-hand information to understand you more. If ony I could hear you tell me your life story. I want to know how you felt upon meeting your husband, my grandpa. Was his Mexican-American heritage intriguing to you? How did being in love and speaking two completely different languages feel? I know about your journey to America, but were you scared? Was there ever a doubt in your mind that your new life would work out?
Even though you probably don’t know this, you have taught me what true love is. The purest form of love comes from you. I feel it when I hold your hand. Your cold, small, fragile hand. I can’t help but think how six years ago you would never have been this docile.
I gaze into your small, focused eyes. Your blank stare dissipates, and there’s a moment when you look back at me. My heart always leaps, and a timid smile creeps across my face, as you display a mesmerizing infectious grin. “I love you,” you say. Each word has its own punctuation. “I. Love. You. ” This profession of feeling is grounded in your steady confidence and is rooted in untouchable fact.
It is then that I know. I know what true love looks like, what it feels like, and more importantly, I know that you have it for me. The fact that you no longer recognize me makes me crumble, but your love will always remain.
It’s unbelievably difficult to witness the progression of your disease. At times, I think it’s easier to think of you as a completely different person, like a new friend that I’ve just met. It makes it easier to differentiate between the past and the present.
However, there is one aspect of your personality that has held on by every tiny string possible. You have not forgotten your silly sense of humor. Your cackle can still roar as loud as a jet. You still have a shrieking whistle that you use to get our attention. You still love music. I know that you may not be able to sing the words, but you sure can clap along.
Thank you. I have nothing but gratitude for you in my heart. Thank you for continually sacrificing to be there for me. You would give the socks off of your feet if it meant making me warm.
Thank you for being kind. I know that you were stern, but you always knew when I needed you to be still and soft. Most importantly, thank you for being strong. Whenever I feel like the weight of the world is nearly too hard to bear, I remind myself of your persistent attitude, and I continue forward.
All of this to say that my love for you runs deep. I appreciate every moment spent with you. I wish that I could say all of these things to you for real, but for now, this will have to do.
