A Birthday Remembered

I am named after my grandmother. She lived in the same town that I grew up in, and I saw her every week.

She was married twice, and ended up spending the last 41 years of her life with her boyfriend, Grandpa Frank. How I delighted in introducing people to my grandmother's boyfriend. They kept separate houses throughout, which she credited with keeping their relationship going all those years. I never, never asked them about sleepovers.

She always made blueberry muffins as a side dish when we came over for dinner, no matter what she was serving. Her Swiss Steak is still one of my favorite memories of childhood. Her cherry zucchini cake that she made once for my birthday is not.

She scoured garage sales for clothes to give to me, sometimes with questionable results. One time she made a vest for me that I loved, and another time she snuck a one piece jumper that I dearly (and, in hindsight, foolishly) loved out of my room and made me another one in a different color for my birthday. She also made me a couple of ponchos that seriously resembled a round tablecloth with a hole cut out of the middle. God bless her.

One year for Christmas she gave my parents, brother and I each bowling balls she'd found at a garage sale, and her boyfriend took us up onto the military base to have holes drilled to fit our hands. I still have my ball. The name inscribed on it: Herta.

She was always so interested in my life, whatever stage I was in. She asked about my friends, about school, even about what I thought about politics during high school when that was the furthest thing from my mind. Her questions made me THINK.

She was such a strong woman. She was strong enough to go back to school at the age of 50 to get her masters and become a marriage and family counselor. She was strong enough to volunteer at the battered women's shelter and ease the pain of others. She was strong enough to tell my then alcoholic father "no" when he called to ask her to save him again, and that was the catalyst for him calling Alcoholics Anonymous. He was sober almost 30 years before he died, and she was there for his last "birthday" celebration.

I hope that I have a tiny bit of her strength and character.

Today would have been her 92nd birthday. She passed away a year ago last March, after suffering from dementia for several years. She still knew me when I visited her, but she was fading. She died while I was on my way up to see her and the rest of my family in Hometown, California right before I moved to Texas. It was such a shock, even at her age. One day, planning to go visit her. The next day, kissing her forehead and saying goodbye.






I miss her, and am honored to carry her name.