Letter 93: Finding Our Way Through
When we honor those who matter
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Happy May!
You know when you read certain writers and you feel as if they are giving you a piece of themselves, as if they are giving you a gift? That’s how I’ve always felt about Suzy’s writing—all the way back to when she was sixteen years old. If you read Suzy’s first piece you already know that she’s an old soul. (Have you noticed that many of our writers are old souls?) But wow, the way Suzy puts words on a page and arranges them, tucking them in next to one another, it’s like she was born to be a writer. She’s incredible.—Molly
Click below to hear Suzy read her letter:
My great-grandmother, Mamoo, taught me how to think strategically. Every Sunday, my mom and I would gather around Mamoo’s circular dining table and play Spite and Malice, a card game that requires much of its name. Sometimes Mamoo’s sister, Bert, would join. Bert was always grouchy, though I think she secretly liked the company. She only had a few eyelashes left, but they were always brushed with turquoise mascara and I appreciated her efforts.
We had our roles: I would always shuffle because in her 90 years, Mamoo never learned how and she would make pancakes and French fries, both delightfully crispy from lard. One time I requested syrup and she handed me a sticky bottle that was filled with more ants than sugar.
This was Mamoo: she wasn’t healthy or organized, but she was extremely sharp. She taught me how to think ahead – how to predict my opponents’ plays even before they could conjure them. She taught me logic. At a young age, I could calculate the probability of a card being drawn based on what had already been played. She taught me consequence. Every card played impacted every card thereafter and I quickly learned which risks to take.
Mamoo would eventually move into an assisted living facility. Our weekly Sunday card playing continued, but it wasn’t the same. The facility reeked of stale bodily fluids and sadness fogged up the space. When Mamoo was much later transferred to hospice care, the card-playing stopped and eventually, so did her heart.
Death was her final teaching and with frustration, I quickly realized that the other ones were useless in death. There was no place for logic or prediction. I could no longer plan ahead or strategize my way out of grief. Her death was final and that was the ultimate consequence of living.
My grandmother, Gumma, moved into Memory Care last week and though this feels familiar to Mamoo, my grief is so distant that I don’t remember how to do this again.
Or perhaps I am the distant one?
I am far removed from the reality that dementia has taken my Gumma and turned her inside-out. Our lives are moving at different velocities. Mine is swirling with marriage and hopes to extend our family lineage and hers is nearing a final stop.
I so badly want to slow down to sit with her in the waiting—in the unknown. I want to stretch time and live in the many moments we shared.
Gumma’s lessons were very different from Mamoo’s. Gumma and I sat in the sun and cleaned our nails with small white bristles and filed down our cuticles. We ironed napkins marked with red and gold Japanese flowers and wrapped wind-up toys with tissue paper. We rubbed each other’s feet and I played with her knobby knuckles and asked if mine would be that big one day. We decorated Christmas cookies with silver balls that appeared inedible.
Through the smallest actions, Gumma taught me about love. She taught me that love is sharing space and time with heart-felt intention and presence.
I don’t know what to do with my love now that time and presence are elusive for her.
As I wait for the inevitable, I hope that she can still find me in her cratered memory. Or maybe locating me through the senses is easier.
Maybe she can still feel the wet sand on her feet as we searched for sand dollars. Or taste the tart tomatoes from the canned Spaghettios we often split. Or maybe she still hears the silly narration of P.J. Funny Bunny from my beloved cassette.
And if our shared memories are completely inaccessible, I hope that she at least has a felt-sense of my complete adoration and reverence for her. I hope that like Mamoo, she can eventually rest knowing that she was deeply loved.
Suzy’s Five Favorite Things:
Hot yoga: I love what yoga and the silence show me about my ego mind. My favorite book about the ego is A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle.
Cooking vegan meals: My husband and I eat a plant-based diet and I love finding unique ways to nourish our bodies. Here are my favorite chefs: Dishing Out Health and Plant-Based RD
We can do Hard Things: I love the guests on this podcast and the places they go together. They often offer language to experiences I haven’t been able to name.
Getting my nails done: I got my nails done for my wedding and never stopped. It’s superficial, but there’s something about receiving care rather than giving it that really fills me up. I also love watching these nail videos by Aistė Haas on IG because they are so soothing.
Looking up baby names: my husband and I are hoping to conceive soon and as someone who has always disliked their name, I take name giving with great responsibility. Send your favorite unique names!
In gratitude,
Suzy
P.S. Suzy’s first letter is one I still think about weekly. She’s an incredible voice.
