For you, Grandma . . .

Typically, during the workweek, my morning slumber is interrupted abruptly by the soothing sounds of MC Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock on my iPhone alarm clock. But at 6:15 on the morning of Tuesday May 29, 2012, when I was awoken by the ringtone assigned to my mother's phone number, I knew what the purpose of the call was before I had even opened my eyes.

Just a day earlier, on Memorial Day, I had decided to take advantage of the extra time off from work by enjoying a mid-morning workout at the gym. While there, I missed a phone call from my sister and, as I am not in the habit of receiving casual, "Just seeing how things are going," phone calls, I was quick to return it in the chance that there had been some sort of an emergency.
It turned out that our Grandmother, who, for a while, had been suffering from the effects of Alzheimer's had taken a turn for the worse. Once home, I called my mother to check on her and offer my support and love as much as one can through a phone call from four hundred miles away.

So, as I reached for my phone on that morning one year ago today, I didn't need to hear the tears in my mother's voice to know that Grandma had passed. At that point, the only thing that needed to be decided was how I was going to be there for my mother. And within an hour, my sisters and I had planned the impromptu, yet very necessary, road trip to Oklahoma.

The purpose of this post is not to try and emulate or reproduce any of the sentiments that were so eloquently shared last year at her funeral. It was then that, through the use of a strategically placed cellphone 1,700 miles away, my mother, father, sisters and I were able to listen to all of the heartfelt words of praise and remembrance that were showered upon Grandma by some of my aunts, uncles, and cousins who were in attendance.

Of course, I could sit here and tell you about how much of a loving wife and caring mother she was to her husband and five daughters. Or how she was always there for the Christenings, Graduations, and birthdays of her thirteen grandchildren. Or I could talk about her decades of dedication and service in local politics and the Catholic school which her daughters attended.

I could also have chosen to talk about how, for me, every childhood memory of Christmas shares the backdrop of Grandma's living room. Or about the time I lived with her for a week and she sat with me to watch the Boston Red Sox and introduced me to Spam - the processed canned meat, not the e-mailed solicitations to send money to some African Prince named Zahir.

Instead, I have decided to focus on the one thing about my Grandmother that, I hope for me, will have the most lasting impact. She was, without a doubt, a very strong-willed and outspoken woman of great character. Her strength - or stubbornness, depending on which end of it you stood - continues to shine through in my mother and my aunts and now in my sisters and cousins who have all turned out to be fine young women in their own right.

Thanks to the presence of a Y-chromosome, my Grandmother was unable to teach me how to be a strong woman, yet I will never forget her willingness to speak her mind. If you ever asked her a question, Grandma might not have told you what you wanted to hear, or even what you needed to hear. She just told you what she wanted to tell you. And sometimes she told you so whether or not the question was even asked in the first place.

In fact, the soundtrack to the home videos of our family gatherings is mostly a compilation of Grandma's soliloquies and non sequiturs interspersed with exclamations of the New England-dialect-inflected "Ma!" hurled by one, or more, of her daughters. In deed, I think we all have a favorite one-liner, or conversation from those relics that we will forever cherish as they will always produce a warm smile in the re-telling of them.


The last, personal conversation I was able to have with Grandma came on the phone when thanking her for a Christmas card I had received in the mail. Of course, as a grown man (in number only), I was more than grateful to have received a check in any amount as a Christmas present from an aging Grandmother. As it was 6:00 in the evening and one of us was tired - I wish I could tell you it was her - the phone call was brief but, to this day, I can remember everything we talked about and the message she tried to deliver.

Grandma knew, as they always do, that I was not happy with my current situation in both my personal and professional lives. She also knew, by my tone and tenor, that I had absolutely no idea what to do about either one of them. In her own words - which I would not do justice by repeating - she told me what she wanted me to hear. Of course, these brisk words of encouragement were ones I had heard before, but it was helpful to hear them from someone who was not standing inside my bathroom mirror.

If there is anything that I can take away from our last phone call, along with the conversations in the mirror that have since followed, it is simply this. Every day spent NOT doing the thing you love, or being with the one you love, is just one less day you'll have in the future to spend enjoying either one of them. Delaying the start of the process that will bring you happiness is only depriving your future self. After all, there is a reason that the phrase, "life is too short," is a cliche.

I regret not having made it to any of our family holiday celebrations of the past fifteen years. And I regret that the last time I saw her, due to her condition, I was not able to fully express my love for Grandma and the gratitude I have for this lesson that she has taught me.

As I honor her on the one year anniversary of her passing, and three weeks shy of my 35th birthday, all I can do is make a promise to both myself and to her that I will start to live a life free of regrets. Whether the decision has to do with a job opportunity, my love life, or the next meal I order off the menu at a restaurant, I must only do what will make me happy. Just as Grandma had implored in that last phone call.

I know that, had she been able to read any of them, Grandma would have been proud, and supportive, of each one of the opinionated editorials that have been posted on this site. I also know that she would constantly remind me to continue to share whatever it is I have to offer, and would not let me give up as easily as I sometimes feel like doing. And I can only hope that she would have been just as proud as I am that I was able to seamlessly attach a link to a late-80's hip-hop video in the opening paragraph of my tribute to her legacy.

Thank you, Grandma.

from her favorite musical and the song that was so beautifully sung at her funeral

 Vivian (Lamothe) (Sorenson) Purselley

April 14, 1929- May 29, 2012