Grandma Donna with Jack and my niece, Andrea, and nephew, Tyler, 2006.
My grandmother died last night. This officially makes me a grand-orphan. Donna Marie Young Hammon was 82. Born and raised in Butte, MT, married to a miner who took her all over the West, a mother of three, grandmother to eight, great-grandmother of 10 and counting. She loved to dance, crochet, bowl, travel, play bunko, bingo, cards and dominoes and watch game shows (among other hobbies, seriously, she was in CONSTANT motion). Really, I can't even begin to chronicle her life. I'm too tired. But, she was my grandmother -- complicated, blunt, loving. I've been digging through pictures this evening to scan and send to my cousin for a family slide show. At 33 weeks pregnant, I'm not quite fit for travel. I will have to send her happy, loving thoughts heavenward on the day of her services Tuesday.
She has been ill for a while, and for the past four months she has hovered near death. The strain on my Aunt Ronda in particular I know has been great, and I'm grateful to my family in Nevada for their care of her in her last days. Unable to speak with her recently, I content myself with memories. I will miss her Swiss steak and apple salad and fudge. (Actually, I've been missing those for a long time since she went on a cooking strike a long time ago...). I was terrified of her at bathtime as a small child because she believed in scrubbing so hard, it literally felt like my skin was going to come off. As a teen, I used to spend my Easter breaks with her where we would every year watch on ABC "The 10 Commandments" with Charleton Heston. The last time I saw it on, I called her to see if she was watching. In recent years, she didn't like to talk on the phone, so it became my personal mission to see how long I could keep her cranky little self talking. My record: Thanksgiving Eve 2007, two hours, where she ended up giving up some baking tips and talking me through a crochet pattern. Forever, any time I brought anyone around, she would insist on telling them one of two moderately amusing/embarrassing stories from my toddlerhood. Because I think I'd like to remember them, perhaps I should share them. You won't get her animation, tiny hand gestures, bright eyes, but the stories she INSISTED on telling over and over will live on.
The Bird
I came in from outside one day and I couldn't find her (that would be me, Mandy). I kept calling, "Amanda. Amanda? Where ARE you?" I heard giggling in the dining room. There she was standing on top of the table spinning the birdcage (pause: It was a parakeet. Now, picture my grandmother pretending to wildly spin a bird cage). "AMANDA! What are you doing? Her favorite part, which she would say exactly like this: "I d-ive Tweety a wide, gamma!" That bird looked like it was going to be sick! And then she'd clap her hands and laugh.
Pop Pop
My Nana (Great Grandma Mary, Grandma's mother) was visiting from Montana. Apparently, I dragged my sassy little self into the kitchen, looked at my grandmother and said, "I wants a bath." "Not now honey. Grandma's making dinner." Me: "I. WANTS. A. BATH!" Grandma: Not now, honey. Me, stomping my feet: "I WANTS A BATH --NOW!" (Digression: Though I have heard this story a million times, I honestly can't believe she didn't take her shoe off and throw it at me the second time I threw a fit over this, but anyway...) Before my grandmother can speak another word, my Nana yells at me, "Mandy, leave your grandmother alone. You stop before I give you a spanking." Now to the part my grandmother loved, which she would tell partially stooped over, eyes narrowed, finger wagging: "Then you lifted up your finger and yelled at your Nana, 'And I've got a Pop-Pops, too!'" (In other words, you touch me and my grandpa will come and get you!) And nobody messed with Grandpa's girls, she'd finish.
I have no idea why she loved those two stories. But she told them over and over. And over. And over. And...you get the picture.
What I wouldn't give to have her tell them to my kids one more time.
