In Memoriam: Eudine

The only thing my grandmother hated more than pain was the institution of health care. She spent her final two weeks in the hospital. I am convinced that this upset her more than death.

My grandmother kicked an overweight nurse in the stomach. It happened during a physical altercation with a number of hospital staff. My grandmother was trying to escape. "I always wanted to kick a pregnant lady," my grandmother said. She then submitted herself to their restraint.

I was not in the hospital when this happened. My wisdom teeth had been removed the previous day. I was not willing to be close enough to my grandmother to risk being punched. My aunt told me the story over drinks that night. The doctors had injected my grandmother with sedatives and she had fallen asleep. My aunt was drinking because my grandmother was sleeping. I was drinking because I was curious to see how my prescription pain medication interacted with alcohol. We told stories and drank. I thought everything was very funny.

My aunt said that my grandmother was mean.

I thought the story was beautiful, too, but I did not say so then. My grandmother died, and my aunt went home. I think a lot of my childhood these days.

I remember feeling lonely as a child. My father was usually working, and my mother was usually at home with my little sister. I think that she was teaching her how to be a woman. My brother and I spent a lot of time by ourselves. I suppose neither of us wanted to be at home any more than our father did. Sometimes, we spent time with our grandmother. We fixed fence lines, chased farm animals, hiked in forests, swam in rivers, and drove through mud holes. I would say that these were very masculine activities, but we did most of them with my grandmother. I will say that I cannot think of anyone more qualified to teach us how to be men.

My grandmother was unhappy most of the time I knew her. Most men I know are like this too. I do not know if she was always this way. Perhaps she was some kind of disillusioned idealist. Perhaps she was worn down by the unrelenting consistency with which death pursued her each day. Perhaps. This would be more than meeting her half-way.

The truth is that my grandmother was mean, just like my aunt said. My aunt would know that better than I would. I never did mind too much. I was just happy that I was not home and that I was not alone. It makes sense to me, though, that kicking a fat lady would make my grandmother happy. She thought it was a pregnant lady, so I guess technically she never got what she wanted. She was too old and blind for that to matter, though.

I hope I am never as mean as my grandmother was. I am afraid I will be. It is possible that the best that I can hope for is that, someday, I will be blind enough to think I have gotten what I wanted. I could live with that. It is also possible that I will have the opportunity to do something or be something different than what my grandmother was. I could live with that too. I just hope that, like my grandmother, I will know a pregnant lady when I see one.