The Last Reunion

There would be no sack races; no ring toss, no basketball or name games at this one. And almost everyone was there this time around. To say goodbye to the matriarch of the family, Olga Pastor. Grandma.

Grandma, I felt like calling you today. Just woke up with you on my mind. Tried to recall your number 302-323...it was every day or every week even that we spoke. But I called when you were on my mind, spontaneous, like almost everything I do. I always seemed to make you laugh and you'd call me a rascal and although you had scores of grandkids I always felt like we had our own thing. It became our tradition for me to bring you a coffee mug from whenever I went away and you always seemed so interested in my trips; even wanting me to call you from Africa when I landed to make sure I was safe.

I admired the fact that you seemed to be always there. Attending all of our graduations, putting an emphasis on education. I admired the work you did with children with health problems and AIDS. Even getting interviewed on the radio, TV and in the newspapers for your efforts.

You got me hooked on Ovaltine, my favorite even today. You told me not to say "hi" to adults, but to say "hello" instead. You told me how important it was to have 2 voices: one I use with my friends and another one when I wanted to be taken seriously. You taught me things just by observing you and your interactions with people and nature. You were good for bringing in the stray dog and cat and calling him your pet and taking care of them.

I remember when I got to teenage years, I tried to make it a conscious effort to always take some kind of lesson from you when in your presence. Like at aunt Sylvia's funeral, I remember you telling me, while staring blankly ahead: You should never have to bury your child.

I remember when David and I came by your place in Delaware just to speak to you, to interview you about your life some years ago. I was really glad we did that. When we left there was a big rainbow out front and I took that to be a good omen. I remember asking you about your father that you hadn't seen since you were 12 years old. You told me the story about him and your mother being divorced, but he came by and you asked him to buy you a dress for a catillion you were to attend. He was to bring the dress for you that following Wednesday. Then you told us "You know, that nigger never came back!" You never saw your father again and the pain that experience caused you was so evident some 70-something years later! Lesson taught: keep my word to my children. Always.

I have a question Grandma. We were at Melanie's wedding and I came by you to say hello and you took a look at my head and said "Oohh, Askia, please don't head-butt me". What the hell was that about, Grandma? Have you always had that concern about my head? Even the way you said, Ooh Askia please don't head butt me? Did I ever head butt you before and forgot about it? Was I coming at you too fast, head first? Okay, so that day's lesson was not to head-butt Grandma. Lol!

I remember the last time seeing you. It was at aunt Marcella's house in June, a couple of months before you passed. You were sitting in the living room chair and you seemed very tired. I immediately recalled hearing or reading something years earlier that said people get very tired when they're ready to go Home. And there you were. I knealt down next to you and knew I was saying goodbye and tried to tell myself it was a good thing but it was very hard. You knew what I was doing, what we were doing, and you held my hand laughed and called me a rascal.

I got up today trying to recall your number to give you a call. Just woke up with you on my mind; to hear your voice and make you laugh. Instead I'm relegated to write this blog and it's a crude consolation prize.

And the lesson I take from today is about tide and time.