stay

For Better or for Worse

G.G. always read the comics first; I guess that's where I got the habit. I used to race her to the paper in the mornings, trying to get first crack at the funny pages. Usually I'd end up grudgingly sharing the half I'd already finished when she came downstairs, just a few minutes behind. If she got them first I'd have to go upstairs to ask for them, and sometimes wait until she'd finished. I realized reading them today as I do every morning (online) that I don't know which was her favorite. I read years later that people who read the funnies first live longer than people who read the obits first.

When Slim and I went up to Charlotte this summer we spent most of our time sitting and reading quietly in her room, G.G. with the comics folded in front of her, drifting in and out of sleep, waking up long enough to give orders, then drifting off again. When she felt like talking, she'd whisper "his name is Josh, isn't it? I do want to get it right." Finding out he was from Michigan, she reminisced about the time the whole family (all 8 kids) accompanied Grandpa George to a conference on Mackinaw Island. We didn't talk much, and she apologized more than once for being poor company, but it was enough for me. We'd never been big ones for talking, and most of the time we spent together we were both wrapped up in a book, curled up in parallel armchairs in the family room.

Momma

G.G., I'm glad for every quiet minute we had together, and even some of the more irritated ones, the ones I'm sure I'll look back on when I have obnoxious teenagers of my own. My parents may contest this, but it feels like I took more of my teenage angst out on my grandmother than on my parents. G.G., thanks for putting up with us, and for letting us put up with you for as long as we did. See you in the funny pages.