I have been thinking about my grandmothers a lot this year. They were both fierce, fun-loving, strong, take-charge women. They found ways to be powerful in times and situations where women were denied power. And they were both survivors. They took what life gave them—all the trials and tribulations along with all the joys—and lived life to the fullest. My grandmothers were friends when my parents were children, and they shared a love of magic, laughter, and celebrations. With each passing year, I see more and more pieces of them reflected back at me when I look in the mirror. 2020 has been one of the hardest years of my life. Loss and heartbreak I didn’t think I could bear. Challenges I wasn’t sure I would survive. Literally. There is nothing like a major health scare drawn out for months because a global health pandemic shuts down all “non-emergent care” to throw one into an existential crisis. As I contemplated my life and tried to meet the challenges before me (hello COVID), I felt my grandmothers with me. Reminding me of everything they taught me when they were alive. About how to survive. How to live. How to love. And how to stay true to myself through it all. Grandma Cleo (my father’s mother) loved Christmas—she would plan for months to make stockings for all the grandkids. Actually, she loved all holidays and any excuse to gather people together and throw a party. So many of my childhood memories are filled with her voice, my large extended family, and lots of food. Her home was the place I felt most safe as a child. I grow irises in my backyard that came from bulbs from her yard. Each spring when they bloom, I feel her with me. She taught me how to be a hostess, how to welcome people into my home, how to gather people together with love. Grandma Cleo was a storyteller of the best kind. She filled dozens of spiral ring notebooks with the stories she wrote. When I stayed the night at her house, I would beg her to tell me a story before bed. She was funny and captivating and knew how to work a crowd. And she was a rebel. Of the absolute best kind. She believed in going her own way and making her own magic. She encouraged my awkward, book-loving, sassy self. College was not the typical path for anyone in my family, but Grandma Cleo never doubted me. We spent late nights in her kitchen drinking tea while she told me stories of her own rebellions. Running away to work on the trolleys in San Francisco. Making her own choices about who to love and who to marry. She told me not to worry that I was more interested in school than other girls and to embrace my future. She taught me how to be the author of my own life. To be independent and strong-willed. To be a feminist. My Grandma Maxine (my mother’s mother) lived far away so I didn’t get to spend as much time with her. And yet, members of my family frequently tell me I am so much like her. She loved to dance and sing and play the piano. She carried the weight of life’s traumas with a heavy heart, but when she was playing music there was a lightness in her. She loved the classic crooners—Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison, Dean Martin. When I listen to a Chris Isaak album or cut loose on a dance floor, I know she is with me. When I was a child and would visit my Grandma Maxine, I learned how to capture quiet moments with her. She was always an early riser. I knew if I got out of bed when the sun rose, I would find her on the porch, with a cigarette and a cup of coffee. Grandma Maxine was often surrounded by people and had a presence that was larger than life, but she shared her stillness with me in those early hours—stolen out of time. I thought of her often this summer, as I sat in my backyard with a cup of coffee and watched the sun rise. She taught me that each new day brings hope. That we have to quiet our heads and listen to what Mother Nature has to share with us. That no matter how heavy our burdens, we can always take a moment to breathe. As we continue to battle a pandemic that threatens the lives of our elders, it is more important than ever to pay tribute to the wisdom they offer us. Too often we push them away from us. Not knowing how to heal the wounds they have caused us. Afraid to face our own mortality. But we need their lessons. About how to find light in difficult times. About how to embrace the aspects of ourselves we fear that others may not understand or accept. About how to live life to the fullest. As the year draws to a close, let's all celebrate our grandmothers. Even if we are separated by distance and a pandemic. Even if they are no longer with us in body--whether our grief is new or old. They walk with us always, besides us and within us. To my grandmothers, with love, Britney Comments are closed.
|
AboutEMPOWERTAINMENT aims to take a critical look at media in regards to how gender and women/girls are portrayed. From popular articles, videos, and websites, to original submissions, we want to not only examine the media and its relation to gender, but help shift it. Archives
November 2017
Categories |