Blast from the Past

In Love, With Tears

The hardest thing to accept is absence, which can, and will, come to each of us in many different forms throughout the course of life. What we may see as the ultimate absence is death, and it is, on the surface. When you dip deeper into this ‘absence,’ however, you’ll find every absence is only temporary, and absence does not include removal.

Grandma Vivian may be gone from us here, but someday, once upon a beautiful life, we will be with her again, as she once was: vibrant, witty, and animated.

But we don’t have to wait to see Grandma again—We have pictures, we have memories, but most of all, we have each other. The past few days, I’ve spent a lot of time with family, grieving, organizing, discovering, but especially remembering.

Alone, Grandma’s death would have been unbearable; surrounded by those who love her, however, those who have a pieces of her still burning in their hearts—her children and daughters-in-law, her grandchildren, her family, her friends—has brought a serenity to the confusion, pain, and heartache of the reality. You see, we each have different memories and experiences with Grandma Vivian. I remember Christmases filled with stories of my dad, uncles, and aunts growing up—the trips to the hospital, the mishaps of long car rides with three boys and two girls, running out of gas in a snowstorm while going to pick your son up from the police station, the numerous family pets (and what happened to them!).

On Friday, while preparing for today, and looking through Grandma’s old albums, random photos, keepsakes and scrapbooks, I realized there was so much more to Grandma than I ever knew. As her granddaughter, I loved her immensely but only knew her when she had snowy white hair, a cozy little apartment in Muskego, and her last two dogs, Coffee and Molly. Friday night, however, I saw pictures of my grandma with beautiful dark hair, tall, slender, elegant, happy, youthful, as a baby, as a wife, as a mother, as a bride in a long, classic gown, and a bride in a tea-length, sophisticated dress. I learned the story of her mysterious mother, witnessed her eventful childhood with Grandpa Bill, Nora, Kitty, Babe, and Mae, saw her first husband, her first wedding, her as a gorgeous young mother with her first two boys. I saw her wedding with my Grandpa Al, saw her with my father as an adorable blissful baby, smiling with her two daughters, standing with my Uncle Bill and Aunt Gail at their wedding, various pictures of her content with her dogs throughout the years. I found an incredibly fragile newspaper with my grandmother depicted with five other women, part of the DePaul University Secretarial Division, smiling, young, absolutely stunning, and…someone I’d never really known.

I knew Vivian May as my Grandma Vivian. Some called her Mom, others knew her as Mom-in-law. At least two, years ago, called her their Love, and a few, even farther back, their daughter, and granddaughter. Some knew Vivian as their friend; some, their cousin. Some knew her as Vivian McCorry, others, as Vivian Fons. Each of us has had different and unique experience with her (though I’m sure one thing we all have in common regarding my grandma is a background filled with laughter), but together, we recreate her exceptional life and personality with our stories and recollections.

As for when I see my grandma again, I’m sure I’ll walk through one of the twelve gates of Heaven, past the gentle creeks of gold, past the smiling and gracious faces of the angels, apostles, disciples of the Lord, friends, family, and there—far off in the open temple of our God, I’ll hear soft laughter, a perfect laughter, God’s laughter. When I reach His house, I expect to see her there, standing before others, with her Manhattan in hand, with her eyes bright, her voice low, meticulously weaving a tale, until—the laughter erupts from the crowd, and God booms in His joy, and she smiles, because if there’s one thing she knows, it’s that God does love a good joke.