The Severed Cortex

Link: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/stltoday/obituary.aspx?n=mary-l-moore&pid=136558485

You can't take a shower in a parakeet cage.
You can't go swimming in a baseball pool.
You can't drive around with a tiger in your car.
You can't go fishing in a watermelon patch.
But you can be happy if you've a mind to it.

This was not the path chosen by my grandmother who passed away last Friday.  Granted, she had a very rough childhood, losing her mother and father before age five and being separated from her older brother after that.  But despite those early obstacles she managed to do a lot of things most people do not get to do.  She graduated from high school at a time when most people, much less women, didn't.  She bought a home during World War II.  She married my grandfather, one of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet and a saint for loving her.  With him she got to travel the world.  She also worked in the corporate world for thirty years, another anomaly for a woman; starting a career in the 1950's.

But despite all these things, she chose to shun happiness and dwell on the negative.  I can't remember if it was the house we rented in University City or the house we bought in Edwardsville, but her first words upon entering were, "I wouldn't pay the kind of money it would take to heat this place".  She complained about the 'gooks' who moved in across the street from her and she swore up and down the neighbors were spying on her and harassing her with phone calls at all hours of the night.  When the Bosnian refugees started moving in and really bringing the neighborhood back to life, she complained about the traffic that came with them.  These are just my stories.  My sister and cousins have stories just like these.  My mother and my aunt have worse horror stories including the one where my grandmother sat in the car outside the church while my aunt and uncle were being married.   I'm sure they haven't told me all the really bad ones either given their prediliction not to tell anyone anything that might be the least bit uncomfortable for them.

Most people are sad when a grandparent dies.  I can't deny that I'm sad but I'm not sad she's gone.  I'm sad that she chose to live her life the way she did.   She could have chosen joy and happiness.

All you gotta do is put your mind to it.  Knuckle down, buckle down, do it, do it, do it.

A dozen people showed up for her funeral, eleven of which were family that lived in the greater St. Louis area.  All were there out of respect for either my father or my uncle.   Or both.  While I was there for that, I was also there out of respect for my grandfather.  For some reason he seemed to love her.  He was a better man than me.