My 87-year-old mother wrote her own obituary recently. She has been carefully organizing and tying up all of her loose ends lately, seemingly racing some invisible clock. She handed it to me with some prayer cards that she said might be nice to use for her funeral.

A few days later I thought about the obituary. She had said it was important to her. A relative had passed away a few months prior and she had thought that his obituary hadn’t really encompassed the wonder of the man. So little was said about someone who had been so important in his family’s life.

How do you sum up a life in a few paragraphs? And if you do a good job at capturing how wonderful someone was, what an impact they had…isn’t it sad that they aren’t around anymore to hear it?  So, I’m writing this to give to my mom today.

Dear Granny,

We take so much for granted in life, our parents’ love, for one thing.

As a parent now myself, I realize the daily sacrifices you and Dad made in raising your two children. You raised us to be good people. You showed us by example to be hardworking, to pinch pennies, to value friendships. You showed us by example to respect one’s spouse, to respect the law, and to be proud of our country. Morality, ethics, religion…you and Dad chartered a path for us. We didn’t always take the path, but inevitably, we came back to it before straying once more.

I grew up feeling loved and cherished. And although I was adopted, it has absolutely never mattered to me. The daily caring and all the things that parents do over the course of a child’s life made you my mom more than any biological connection could ever do. As I got older and went to college, you were always there for me. I’d get a letter once a week with encouragement…and a few bucks, which were both very needed. I may have seemed totally independent, but the emotional umbilical cord was still there. And you were still nourishing me through it.

You had a way of talking to me without talking down to me. When I was having a problem, you represented it as some thing that needed fixing…not that I needed fixing. There is a difference, and it made a difference in your realizing that.

Before you moved in with my family two years ago, my kids hardly knew you. They thought of you as fragile and serious. Their relationship with you now is so very different. They still see you as fragile, but they now see you as a special friend. They think about you even before I do, “what about Granny?” they’ll say to me if we’re going someplace or doing something. Someone they can go hang out with, someone that will tease them or that they can play a joke on, and someone (else) they can try and manipulate into giving them popcorn. I think it will be incredibly hard for them the day you are no longer with us. They love you so much.

Having you live with us has been a blessing. Oh, sometimes I do yearn to be alone at the house, to crank up my music or something. But these moments are few. More often, I use you to blow off steam to, or to chat with about that day’s top news horror or neighborhood gossip. I enjoy your sense of humor, when you partner with my husband to tease the kids or me. I appreciate you biting your lip and not complaining when the dinner is burnt or when some other crisis occurs during our busy day. Sometimes I try and put myself in your place, and wonder what you think about our life…so hectic, sometimes so stressful. But we are a family, and life goes on.

And time passes. I wish I had more time, all of the time. But, that’s something I can’t control. If I had more time, I would like to do things with you, just for our enjoyment. You’d love the beauty of Bonfante Gardens, or going to an opera. There are so many things that you would enjoy, should enjoy. But there just isn’t enough time, with the kids and the house, and the obligations. So, the time we spend together isn’t always quality. It often is just time spent together, sharing a busy day.

Know, too, that I love you. Over the past few years that have been several times when you were on death’s door, in the hospital, about to have dangerous surgery and the like. Each of these times I have held your hand and said “I love you” so many times. Yet, on any given day, I rarely say these words to you. They somehow seem out of place during a normal day when crisis isn’t at hand. I don’t know why. But let me say it now, again. I love you. I appreciate you. Thank you.

                                                                      By Diane Blum
                                                                          copyrighted
The Wonder Of Granny
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