Day 20: Describe 3 Significant Memories from Your Childhood
I honestly feel like I need days to think about which 3 memories to write about. How can you pick only 3? Especially when I have a really solid long-term memory. But, the more I've thought about it, I tuned in to what the idea is behind these topics - that my children will one day have insight into who I am. So I'm taking advantage of this prompt to tell them things that may go untold otherwise.
So, here's what I chose. (And I'm sure once I publish this, I'll think of others that I wish I had chosen...)
-When my parents told me about their divorce: I don't remember how old I was when the discussion took place. I know they separated when I was 3 and a half, and they officially divorced when I was 4. So, I'm thinking this was closer to 4, but I vividly remember my mom and dad asking all three of us (kids) to come to their room. We sat down, and they told us that they weren't going to be married anymore. I don't remember exactly what was said, but I was very much thinking, "When can I go play with my toys?" I don't at all remember feeling sad, and I didn't seem to care much. I don't think I understood that they were telling me something that would change my life forever. I had no idea what consequences this would have on my weekly schedule nor on how I viewed relationships/marriages/family for the rest of my life. I only remember being bored with the discussion and wondering how long I had to sit there before I was told I could go play again. Most people think it's so sad that I was so young when my parents divorced. Honestly, I barely remember them being married at all. I vaguely remember my dad living at our house, but mostly, it's always been this way. So, in some ways, I'm glad I wasn't like Bernice in Hope Floats as she screams for her daddy to come back or like Sydney in Parenthood having an emotional breakdown as she finds out about her parents separating. But, I 100% identify with their pain and the yearning for their families to stay together and under one roof.
-When I started my period. I know, why would my kids ever want to know this? Ha! Well, I figure MAYBE - just maybe - I'll have a daughter, and maybe she'd want to know this, so I'll tell it now. And, my sons, well, they can pass it on to their kids! :) I was 11 (almost 12), and it was Father's Day weekend. I was at my mom's house during that summer day, and Brock had a friend over. I went to the bathroom, and I saw the slightest little smidge of something different when I wiped. I immediately went to get my mom thinking, "What the heck is that!?!" I had to whisper to her, because I was so embarrassed that Brock's friend might find out. When I took her to the bathroom with me, she said, "You started your period!!" and then she slapped me. :) Yep! Some weird family/Jewish/weird tradition where women slap you when you start your period. I've been told it's to get the blood to your cheeks rather than.... well, anyway, she slapped me. And, that night, I was at my dad's house for the weekend. As I went upstairs after saying goodnight, my OB/GYN dad stopped me and said, "Do you want to talk about anything? Do you have any questions?" Great dad moment; horrible, awkward, embarrassing daughter moment. At 11, I wanted to say NOTHING to him about this! "No, thanks," I said, and I calmly turned around and kept climbing those steps, wanting desperately to just get the hell to my room! And with that, I'll stop embarrassing my kids for even bringing this story up at all!
-When my Grandma died. Technically, I was not a "child" when my Grandma passed away. I was 23 years old then. But, Grandma was a huge part of my childhood, so this loss was huge, and it's one I recall vividly. I can still hear my Grandma's voice, and I can see her perfectly in my mind. She was an amazing lady, and I'm so fortunate to have a million memories with her - baking together, going bra shopping together, her picking me up from school with snacks (much healthier than the ones my Grandpa would bring), calling to check on me when I was sick, asking if I was okay after the emotional goodbye to a character on General Hospital, taking me to see Pretty Woman at the age of 9 (having no idea it was about a prostitute), singing next to me at Passover seder, asking me to give her back rubs, playing dress-up with her shoes in her closet, having her tuck me in at night when I'd spend the night at her house, her weather reports and updates, making fun of her crooked arthritic fingers or the way she said "Missoura" instead of "Missouri," laughing all night when we couldn't find the Alamo during our San Antonio trip, and hearing her voice on the other end of the line "Hi, Baby, it's Grandma." Oh, how I miss those calls. Her death is perhaps the only moment in my life that I describe as both scary and beautiful at the same time. She was not doing well in the hospital, and we knew she was not going to make it. My mom, aunt, and uncle knew Grandma wanted to be home. So, the day after Christmas, they made arrangements to have her transported home for a final goodbye. Once home, the family gathered and waited through the night to spend one last night with her. I remember doing "girly" things with her - putting lotion on her, brushing her hair, massaging her arms. We told her things we wanted her to know, even though she was not responding. The next day, on December 27th, we stood around Grandma's bed. My whole family (minus my cousin who lives out of town and couldn't make it home in time) stood gathered in a circle around her. Mom, Aunt Jacque, and Uncle Barry were on her bed with her. Then, the machine (respirator?) was turned off. We watched and waited, and as we held hands and cried and leaned on each other, we heard Grandma's breaths get farther and farther apart. Aunt Jacque started humming to her. Grandma seemed to be making humming noises, and I just remember the beauty and serenity of the lullabies Aunt Jacque was almost echoing back to her mother. Mom and Uncle Barry were talking to her and whispering in her ear. I was trying to hold it together. I wanted to hold my own mother as she watched her mother fading. It was peaceful, it was calm - but it was beyond frightening for me to lose her and see it and feel it. Yet, I am so grateful that I was there - to be there for her, I know she knew we were all there with her. It was the most beautiful thing. To be there as her soul moved from here to wherever it goes next.... and it was in this moment that I believed there just has to be a God. Grandma died the day before her 79th birthday, a Saturday, Shabbat. I remember the rabbi talking about how she died on a day that brought the most closure to a beautiful circle of life. She had completed a year, completed the week, and died on the sabbath. There was meaning in that for me. And, he talked about how we were all there with her - that it represented what a beautiful life she had. Every time I think about my Grandma's death, I tear up - and it's hard for me to even talk about it without getting too emotional. I love that Grandma was in her own house, in her own room. She was surrounded by the people who loved her most, and she had her possessions and pictures nearby. If life must end, I think we should all be so lucky to have this kind of beautiful ending.
*Past posts in this series can be found here: Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7, Day 8, Day 9, Day 10, Day 11, Day 12, Day 13, Day 14, Day 15, Day 16, Day 17, Day 18, Day 19
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