My great-grandmother, who liked for us to call her “GG”, was a tough but proper lady. She would give you love pats that would knock the air out of you as she squeezed you tight, and slap your bare thigh to emphasize a point. She always hosted Christmas Day brunch at her house, and would have the tables set for weeks ahead of time. I think I inherited my obsession with etiquette books from her.
She liked to get out her photo albums and show us pictures of our mother and aunts and uncles. If any family member of hers appeared in the local paper, she would cut it out and save it there. This included police reports of speeding tickets given to my aunts–one, in a cheerleading uniform, racing to a football game, another speeding up the hill because, according to her, if she didn’t go fast enough her car wouldn’t make it.
When she was dying, at age 92, she could barely talk. Her mouth was very dry. We would use a cotton swab to rub a moisturizer on her lips, and help her to eat ice. Once, very near the end, I sat next to her on the bed as she drank some water. She choked and coughed, and water and phlegm dripped down her chin. I reached to wipe it with a Kleenex and this frail, dying woman smacked my hand away, took the tissue from me and did it herself. She was so proper and independent, even when she was almost unrecognizably weak.
I love her so much, and I miss her.
