RIP Anna June, my grandma, 1924 - 2012. Memories, a message and a messenger
“Death is not a mistake, nor a failure, nor a punishment—it is a violent revolution contesting spirit and body. It proves that change is the natural order of things.” — Janet Cyril, Malkia Cyril’s mom
After being diagnosed with terminal cancer five months ago, my grandmother, my mother’s mother, passed away early this morning. I’m named after her— she’s Anna June, and I’m Deanna June. Our matrilineage is one that is fierce and I’m heartbroken to lose her.
My grandma was an extremely private person, especially about her illness, so I didn’t share very much of my experiences over the last few months publicly/online. My mother— with whom, as most of my friends and family know, I’m extremely close— moved out to help take care of her and my grandfather on my birthday last year. She came home to Binghamton a couple times, but mostly stayed by the side of my grandmother for the whole five months. Her strength is something I could only hope and pray for if those were my circumstances.
I got to visit Grandma a several times over the fall and early winter, and grew to find a new level of intimacy in that part of my family. My grandmother reminded me of a bunch of great stories from when I was a kid, and we created a few new ones. I want to share a few of those now.
You have to know, my grandma is not the kind of grandma that bakes cookies and pies and wears aprons and sings to you sweetly at night. No, June is what I’ve often referred to as “90 pounds of badass.” She’s a crossword master, quick-witted and darkly funny. She can play the straight person in a practical joke and not let on for days. Days.
On one of my visits this fall, she told my mother and I in the car that she cried the night I went to Germany as an exchange student when I was 17. I was shocked to hear this—I don’t think of her as a crier. But she said, “I got out a map, and I looked at how far away you were from your mother, and from me. Grandpa had already gone to bed, and I just sat at the bar in the kitchen and cried.”
Later in the same car ride, my mom made a somewhat precarious left-hand turn. I was in the back seat, Grandma was in the passenger seat, and we both started to rib Mom a little. Then it struck me funny that Grandma was giving her a hard time about her driving— she’s known as a pretty, er, assertive driver. I mentioned this to her.
She— painstakingly slowly— turned her head around, with an eyebrow raised to me. In a deep, quiet tone she said, “I’m not going to cry for you when you go to Lower Slobbovia anymore.” And she turned her head back around to face front. Mom and I laughed so hard, my face hurt.
In October, I had been really, really nervous about giving my Web 2.0 Expo talk. Afterwards, I called Grandma and my mom to let them know how it went, and on that call, Grandma reminded me of the time I came to visit her for my 10th birthday. She filled in extraordinary details of that trip that I had forgotten about. I flew on my own for the first time, and when the flight attendant was walking with me down the jetway at the Columbus airport, I told her that I was worried that my grandma wouldn’t recognize me because I had gotten my hair cut, and I was wearing new clothes. (Leave it to the Leo child to think she’s only recognizable by her style.) My luggage was lost; we stood at the belt as they all went around, and Grandma asked me what my suitcase looked like. “Um,” I fumbled, “it’s black and it has wheels.” She rolled her eyes. “Great, Deanna, very helpful. Very.” While we waited for the bag to show up, she took me over to COSI, which was like Disneyland for nerd kids. I thought my greatest dream had come true.
This past week, I got to spend a lot of time with her as she grew weaker. Mom and I stayed overnight with her several times, and we’d tell her that it was our girls-only slumber party where “no stupid boys” were allowed. We reminisced, and her last rounds of clear communication had a lot of laughs in them. She spent her last days sleeping, surrounded by her husband and the rest of her family. Mom and I stayed with her, along with my Uncle Brent, from Thursday on.
Last night, we saw the most extraordinary thing. At the hospice home where my grandparents had been staying since last week, they have bird feeders outside all of the windows. At around 10pm, a male cardinal — my grandma’s favorite bird — came to her window’s feeder. I’ve never seen a bird come out at night like that, and later we all agreed that we each thought he was our messenger from the next life. Grandma’s heart later stopped at 12:02am, peacefully, as we were all by her side.
The hole that she leaves behind will never be filled, but I take comfort in that we’ll carry on with her fierce presence inside of us, always.
