My grandma used to call me Toots. I loved that she had a special nickname for me. It was a source of pride that my grandma saw me good enough for a sweet nickname. It was one that only she used.
There really is something so magical about a grandma and a granddaughter. For the most part. My grandma on my dad's side did not quite see the same lovely things that my other grandma did. I think my own mother and her caustic ways sort of cast a grey shadow over me. And just the hurricane of the alcoholic household caused me to be a big brat sometimes. I know that kids can be mean but I was really good (in an awfully bad way) with head games.
For instance, there was a family that we were close to- or rather the adults were close and us kids played together off to the sides. This other family had 3 kids- one up on my brother and I. The oldest was a girl, 2-3 years older than me. The second child was also a girl, 1 year older than me. The youngest was a boy and I think he was a a year or two younger than my brother. (To keep getting off track, hear this. My brother and I are Irish twins. The little brat stole my first birthday thunder (and all subsequent birthday celebrations) by showing up 9 nine days before I got to eat my first birthday cake ever. I know it isn't really his fault, but boy did I blame him for everything. And if you spent any time in my family you could see why. My parents struggled with their issues that were compounded by the alcoholism. My dad favored me and I knew it and used it to my complete and shameless (at the time) advantage. My mother was a hot headed and fairly unstable person. In other words, we were not truly shown through example, how to love each other. We were pitted against each other in life- subtle ways to more obvious ones. My brother to this day cannot live without my parents; he is still trying to suck up all of their attention and hoping to be the only apple of their eye. I took a different route and have sought therapy, Al-Anon, and other avenues to move beyond the dysfunction. If you know and understand about alcoholic families, you know what I am talking about.
So of course through all of this, my grandparents have different perceptions about what goes on at the Helwig household. My dad's parents lived closer so we saw them more often. And from the beginning that set of elders worried about my mom and her relationship with my dad. So I think they must have always seen us through these colored glasses. As a child these grandparents were my favorite because they lived on a farm, had an edgy sense of humor and were always around. As I grew up and after Grandpa Helwig died (and Grandma H moved to California), I started to realize that the other more prim, always fair, consistent and loving grandparents were better for me.
Grandma H fell out a little bit in my eyes, too, when we butted heads about the roles of girls versus boys in the running of a household. I was NOT going to clean up after my brother or wash his clothes. No way. Plus I sucked my thumb until way too late in life and she said some disparaging words about it to my aunt when she thought I was not listening. In all fairness, I do wish that I could have gotten to know this grandma and had known her for longer. I think she could have helped me sort out my role in the alcoholic craziness in different ways. Plus it would have been great to get some of her perspective on how and when it all started to really go down hill.
But that is not how life went. Instead, Grandma Reinberger and I became super close. And this lovely lady called me Toots. She passed away over a year ago and I miss her so much. The funny thing about Grandma R is that she has always been consistent, fair and stable- unwavering in her commitment to our family. And the reason I am so shocked by this is not that she is my mom's mom. It is because she technically is not. See, my mother was adopted as a baby by Grandpa R and his wife. (It's awful that I cannot recall her name.) This woman died when my mother was 16 years old. That will leave a scar for sure. Anyway, Grandpa R did not wait very long to marry the only Grandma R my brother and I ever knew- Barbara Ann.
Grandma R was my mom's stepmom- another puzzle in the adoption puzzle. As kids we viewed this pretty black and white when we were told this story. It was shocking to us that she was technically out step-grandma who was also not technically related by blood to any of us or to any of Grandpa R's family. And Grandpa R had no blood relation to any of us either- even mom. And Uncle Mark was also adopted. It made the family tree so crazy and complicated. It was shocking. But just as quickly as registering the shock, we were marveling in how we had no idea. They loved us as their own family. And especially Grandma R who apparently took a lot of crap from my mother, had not held any grudges or showed any signs that her start to the family was anything but easy and smooth. This lady was a saint!
And this same lady, saw so much goodness in me. She saw the crap in my mom and loved her anyway. Towards the end it increased her anxiety ten-fold and she didn't want to witness or be a part of any of my mother's ridiculous behaviors. However, she was still there in her best way. We never talked in great detail about my position but she didn't need to know. She understood and she let it be. She called me Toots and let me cook in her kitchen. She loved my girls and my hubby. She loved to spend time with us and enjoyed hearing my voice every time I called. She was my rock in this unsteady world.
And all of this came flooding back when I heard the name Toots just yesterday.
My family went to visit my husband's parents on their farm about 30 minutes from our house. They moved there from California 1 year ago and we cannot be happier. The only surviving great-grandparent for me or Steve is G-Bugga, and she has been on an extended farm visit since July. We were all gathered around the dining room table for a rousing game of Chicken Foot dominoes. Little A was also playing and getting a tad wound up. When it was her turn, G-Bugga turned to her and said, "It's your turn, Toots." I got all teary-eyed, looked first to Steve and then to mom, who both nodded in understanding, and back to G-Bugga. "My grandma used to call me Toots." G-Bugga smiled and we shared a moment. I have never heard her use that expression before and I felt as if Grandma R was there with us.
Just a couple weeks before we all were playing Canasta with Grandma R's deck of cards. Inside the box we also found a small piece of paper with card values and tips written in Grandma R's handwriting. G-Bugga commented on this and said that it was special to have played with those cards and to have used that cheat sheet.
It has been a pleasure to spend time with G-Bugga. It reminds me so much of all the time with spent with Grandma R. That generational bond is so amazing and so special. And I hope that Little A will one day think fondly of her days as Toots too.
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