Weave the Web

Your parents are the foundation of your life.  Your grandparents are the bedrock that the foundation sits upon, and you think of grandparents as individuals to the same degree that you think of the granite beneath your feet when considering the stability of your home.

 

I don’t remember Dang in the same way that you, her children, may.  The images that are conjured in this time of grief are far more ethereal for me:  Running to meet the Good Humor truck during visits to her home in Scarsdale; Catching eels at her home in Florida, or my fascination with the lizards climbing her screens.

 

Though, to my adolescence, the only direct interaction permanently imprinted on my young psyche is the buttery taste of her hot dogs on pan-toasted buns.  It may be trite to say, but it is funny the things that stick with you.  Not the struggles she endured, not the presents she gave (although I still treasure the four foot tall Christmas stocking she knitted for me,) nor the strains and reconciliations that washed between her and my Mom with the ebb and flow of time.  I remember only that I felt welcome in her company.

 

There are a few brief moments of clarity in your lifetime.  This week marks one for me.  I find a certain perspective in contemplating the passing of the parent of my parent while falling in love with my own newborn child.  I hope each of you will take the time to put aside your natural preconceptions, and consider Beverly Hull as I do now.  Not as a Mother, or a wife, or a friend, but as a woman who, through her strength and grace of character, and in the choices she made throughout her long life, raised a daughter with the strength and grace of character to raise me.

 

I have always considered myself blessed.  I thank you, Beverly, for the seeds you planted which have grown into the hopes and dreams I have for my son.  I only wish now that I knew you for more than your hot dogs.