100 Years
This is a photo of a newborn baby girl, my grandma, taken 100 years ago today. Her name was Suzanne Porter.
Today, on what would have been her 100th birthday, I’m not sure what to say about her. There’s too much. She was the grandparent that I was the closest to. She died on December 5, 2019 at the age of 96. She was a scientist, a devout Catholic, a harpist, an animal lover, and a poet. She thought she was a terrible mother, but I can say that she was nothing but supportive as a grandmother.
The last time I saw her was in February 2019, and I was able to tell her how much I loved her. She was still sharp.
In September 2019, my mom and husband went to go see her, but I stayed at the hotel with my three-year-old daughter. I was eight months pregnant at the time, and my mom and husband thought it would upset me too much to see her, because she was in pain and not herself. I don’t know if that was the right decision.
In late October 2019, my mom called my grandma to tell her that I had given birth to my son. My grandma knew how difficult and dangerous childbirth is, and she had been praying constantly for me. My mom told me that she was very relieved to get the news.
I feel like I should be celebrating my grandma’s life today, but I feel sad. I miss her. I wish she had met my son. I wish she had lived an easier life. I feel guilt that I did not see her at the end of her life, and also relief that I did not have to see her in pain.
I can still hear her leaving a message for my mom on the answering machine at our house: “hi, this is Mom Grandma. Call when you can.”