It's been a rather tough week for me. On Wednesday the strongest person I know, the Matriarch of my family, passed on. She is my Great Grandmother, Jennie Cimprich. Now, I know the title Great Grandmother suggests a sort of seperation from my daily life, but this is not so. In the close nit family I have, I saw her weekly. And I loved her greatly. She's the reason why I am the way I am, and why I've rooted myself in Pittsburgh so firmly.
She'll be laid to rest tomorrow, and I've been asked to be a pall barer. It's the hardest thing that I've ever been asked to do, but because I love her so much, I'll hold myself upright and carry her gently. But I'm not going to finish this with mournful memories of her, but some of my best memories of her. Now is not a time to mourn her passing, but to celebrate her life and the joy she gave everyone.
Every generation, they say, finds a way to piss off the generation before it. My Grandmother is about as stark a contrast as you can find between mother and daughter. While my Grandmother is a concervative woman who fails to believe Oral sex exists, my Great Grandmother would tell you all about it.
At dinner, one night while I was living with them, my great grandmother brought up how happy she was to have such a great family, because she never wanted children. When my grandmother asked her why she had her at such a young age, my Great Grandmother responded, "I didn't try to, the condom broke." Like I said, this was at dinner. And not a perticularly private one.
Another time, for dinner, she busted out laughing. We asked (again, this wasn't a private dinner) what was so funny, and she responded "This sausage looks like a penis!" Which made her laugh even harder, having said penis. Likewise, hotdogs were NOT to be served when dinner involved distant relatives.
At a family gathering, my uncle Donnie and myself were taking jabs at her and her packrat mentality (she did grow up in the great depression), she quieted our jests with a warning. "I think I may run and plow into someone I think." We were sufficiantly shushed.
And just two years ago, the last time she attended my annual birthday party, she was reading the menu and started laughing loudly again. And inbetween sobbing laughter, she said "This dish is called, The Poo Poo platter." Again, when she gets out what's so funny, it makes her laugh harder.
I'll draw an end to my list of memories of her here, because I have a lifetime full of them to cheerish, you don't have a lifetime to read them all. To meerly weep for the one I love would be a disserves to all the good she brought. And to have her legacy end when the tomb is seal would not do her memory justice.
I love you grandma, and I'll miss you greatly.
She'll be laid to rest tomorrow, and I've been asked to be a pall barer. It's the hardest thing that I've ever been asked to do, but because I love her so much, I'll hold myself upright and carry her gently. But I'm not going to finish this with mournful memories of her, but some of my best memories of her. Now is not a time to mourn her passing, but to celebrate her life and the joy she gave everyone.
Every generation, they say, finds a way to piss off the generation before it. My Grandmother is about as stark a contrast as you can find between mother and daughter. While my Grandmother is a concervative woman who fails to believe Oral sex exists, my Great Grandmother would tell you all about it.
At dinner, one night while I was living with them, my great grandmother brought up how happy she was to have such a great family, because she never wanted children. When my grandmother asked her why she had her at such a young age, my Great Grandmother responded, "I didn't try to, the condom broke." Like I said, this was at dinner. And not a perticularly private one.
Another time, for dinner, she busted out laughing. We asked (again, this wasn't a private dinner) what was so funny, and she responded "This sausage looks like a penis!" Which made her laugh even harder, having said penis. Likewise, hotdogs were NOT to be served when dinner involved distant relatives.
At a family gathering, my uncle Donnie and myself were taking jabs at her and her packrat mentality (she did grow up in the great depression), she quieted our jests with a warning. "I think I may run and plow into someone I think." We were sufficiantly shushed.
And just two years ago, the last time she attended my annual birthday party, she was reading the menu and started laughing loudly again. And inbetween sobbing laughter, she said "This dish is called, The Poo Poo platter." Again, when she gets out what's so funny, it makes her laugh harder.
I'll draw an end to my list of memories of her here, because I have a lifetime full of them to cheerish, you don't have a lifetime to read them all. To meerly weep for the one I love would be a disserves to all the good she brought. And to have her legacy end when the tomb is seal would not do her memory justice.
I love you grandma, and I'll miss you greatly.