This One's For You, Grandma

After 89 treasured years on this Earth, my last living grandparent, my mother's mother, has passed away.
Grandma Alma was the sweetest force of nature I've ever known. Her boundless energy and zest for life rivaled anyone's youth. She often had stories to tell of the trips she took to the Cape, or Florida, or one of the region's casinos on her most recent senior trip. She kept me up-to-date on the latest movies since she went to the theater with her friend, Alice, on a regular basis. And we would always discuss last night's Red Sox game, another painful loss. When they finally broke the streak and won the World Series in 2004, it was a thrilling victory she was sure she would never see in her lifetime, never mind twice.
I've yet to remember a major milestone in my life without my grandma there. Even as she grew older, she still came down for my mother's singing concerts and my niece's birthdays. And if she couldn't make it, you knew there was a card on its way in the mail. After all, she was the matriarch of our family, staying on top of everyone's lives as they developed alongside her own.
That's why Grandma's house was our central meeting place, as her door was always open. On any given day you would find a handful of friends and relatives hanging around the kitchen, chatting and reading the newspaper, or outside helping her in the garden with Uncle Dickie. When I was younger, my cousins and I would shoot baskets next to the garage of Alma's sister's house next door, or if there were enough people we'd play a game of wiffleball. As we got older, we'd pass the time playing board games or watching movies and football after a holiday feast.
There were always kids running around Grandma's house as new generations were added into the family. Often times I would find myself in the basement for yet another impromptu puppet show or new dollhouse display. Upstairs Zia Linda would be clearing the tables and my Aunt Linda washing dishes, as Grandma puttered around the kitchen to make sure everyone had a plate of leftovers to bring home. "No one leaves this house empty-handed" was her motto, even in her death. Many people brought home food from the reception that followed her funeral, and I'm sure Grandma was smiling down on us, trying to point out a dish that we had missed, making sure no one left hungry.
The holidays will be the hardest without her. She was the soul of our traditions, and she carried them with grace. I will always remember ringing the bell to enter the kitchen, greeting Grandma and Zia and Uncle Butch. The smell of homemade cooking follows me as I wander upstairs to put my coat away. Back downstairs a number of family members are already gathered around the hors d'oeuvres, trying to keep me from eating all of the deviled eggs. I snag about four, which I instantly regret once the food is ready. My mother, the eldest child, gives her annual toast, after which we clink our glasses to a rousing "Salute!" After salad, it's a rush to beat my dad to the beginning of the food line (not an easy feat I assure you).
And all the while, Grandma is behind the scenes with Zia and Butch, making sure everything is out on the tables or that there's enough meat cut. She's the last to sit down, after a few exasperated pleas from the rest of us, since sitting down was not one of Grandma's strong suits.
After dinner, Zia puts the coffee on rush order as Grandma brings out her fresh apple pie to add to the already overflowing dessert table. My mom whips up the cream, while a line forms to see who can lick the beaters this year. As stomachs settle, it's time to sample just a little from each dessert, or at least figure out which ones you'll be bringing home next to the leftover picadu (mmm, delicious, irresistible, totally bad for you picadu, how I love thee...). But I digress. :)
With full stomachs again we catch up with Grandma, who makes the rounds in each room. Every holiday I learned something new about Grandpa Al through added pictures on the walls. I can still see her resting on the couch, smiling up at her kids and her grandkids and her great grandkids, soaking up another successful holiday celebration. And at the end of the night it takes half an hour of walking around in your coat, carrying your leftovers, to say good-bye to everyone, including those you haven't seen in five years whose names you can't remember, but they just walked in the door so you gotta say something, even though your body temperature has gone up 20 degrees from your jacket and your significant other has been waiting in the car for 15 minutes thinking you got lost... :)
But it was all part of my family, the best parts of my family. The laughter after a dirty joke, ringing one of Grandma's many bells to signal dinner, the hello and good-bye hugs, the comfort, the togetherness. This is the sense of family my grandmother instilled in all of us as her legacy. And these are the holiday traditions that I wouldn't miss for the world.
I will miss them now though, as I will miss my Grandma Alma.