Why I called her Mom

In fall of 1977, my family moved to Whitestone from Astoria. I first met her while in the back yard of our new home. As I reached over the white picket fence to shake her hand, a beagle (Deegan) had jumped up and bit my hand as we introduced ourselves. Her name was Pat and it was "love at first bite." Nine years later, after asking her parents permission, we would become husband and wife. I had married the girl next door and began a new relationship with a family I would grow to love and respect.

If I had not already done so, I tried to win over their affection by being the best son in law I could be. I attended all possible functions (work permitting), whether near or far and volunteered to be the chauffeur for most. Trips up north became the norm every summer for the past twenty-three years with my mother in law aboard for most. What good summers they were, I am glad she made one final trip this year. After the untimely passing of my father in law, about a month prior to Matthew's birth, we all promised to try and spend more time with my mother in law. She was a strong independent woman who loved to drive almost everywhere and would occasionally be at your door at the most unexpected times. She said what she meant and meant what she said. She gave her opinion whether you were looking for it or not and although we did not always see eye to eye, I respected her feelings and I know she respected mine. I loved as her as if she was my own.

I don't really know when or how it came about, but I started to call her Mom. It may have been requested or just something I started to say but we both felt comfortable. In the past few years, I have spent more time with her than my own mother. I tried to do as much as I could for the woman who gave me her daughter for better or for worse. We had some pretty intense and in depth conversations. To those who think it is easy having parents side by side, it was sometimes a blessing and yet sometimes a curse. I'm sure it wasn't easy for them either.

Now that she has passed. Her suffering is over. I am glad I had the opportunity to see her on the eve of her last day on earth if only for a little while, not knowing that saying goodbye that night meant forever. I wish I told her that I loved her, but I'm sure she knew. I loved her like a mother and know one can take that from me, that's why I called her Mom.

Brian

I loved my grandma because...

I loved my grandma because she was a real person. I will always love her because she ran hot and cold, because sometimes she pissed me off, and because when she said something, whatever it was, she meant it.

God bless the nice, perfect grandmas out there; really. The ones that always smile, that always know just what to say and what to do. The woman I dubbed "Little Grandma" years ago in my pre-school days just wasn't one of them.

Sometimes she made me laugh and sometimes she drove me up the friggin' wall. And I know I was not the only one.

We all get something from the people in our lives. I believe that in a literal way. I told her, in a letter a Mother's Day ago, that when it comes to narrowing what I have and from where I get it, Little Grandma was the source of my wisdom:

"My wisdom to encourage my own yearning to learn, the wisdom to know when to follow the rules and when to challenge them, the wisdom to know "when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em," and most of all, the wisdom to have good judgment and show due respect to people, even when it was not shown to me."

Little Grandma had her own sense of wisdom, and was often not afraid to share it, even when no one wanted to hear it. She was even wise enough to outsmart her own shortcomings.

The woman who taught me how to proudly salute the American flag and proudly sing "The National Anthem," not for kicks, but because they were the right thing to do, also represented so many things "wrong" with her generation, especially when it came to race and ethnicity.

Side comments don't go unnoticed by the young, and I used to be taken aback as a precocious youngster when my grandmother would bemoan the increasing presence of East Asians as we battled our way into the new Target on 20th Avenue, of the Greeks who "have no taste" as we scaled the hilly sidewalks on the way to Francis Lewis Park, or the "disgusting homosexuals" who would appear on television every once and a while.

That same woman also told me that Sandra Oh's character of "Dr. Christina Yang" on "Grey's Anatomy" was her favorite because she was "tough and honest" and "unafraid of a fight."

The same woman also told me that she'd vote for City Council Speaker Christine Quinn for New York Mayor, saying "I don't care if she's a lesbian, Quinns have to stick together," with a smile that meant more to me than she knew at the time.

The same woman spoke to me the night of the 2004 Democratic National Convention in Boston and told me with certainly that if "that bright young man Obama" ever ran for president she'd vote for him.

When that moment had come and gone four years later, and the new President-Elect Obama tearfully thanked his own maternal grandmother who had left this earth only a few days prior, she and I spoke about it later on the phone.

I told her that one day, from my own stage of achievement and success, I would thank her in that same way, as she too had meant so much to me. After all, she gave me my wisdom; the wisdom to know and love the fact that people are complex, that people can surprise you, and that the best people in your life are the ones you already have in it, because they're part of you.

To my Little Grandma, who was wise, stubborn, witchy, funny, giving and real,

I will always love you, but never truly miss you or be without you because of what you have given me.

-Kevin xoxo