Monday, September 06, 2004

Usually when this time of year rolls around, I think back to the nightmare of September 7's of the past; the fateful Labor Day that changed my life forever. Normally I am putting all of my strength into getting past my "bad day" (the 7th) and the week before it - having usually fallen into the deepest pit of black depression. Even last year, the first year as you'll see that it didn't drag me down, I was still remembering what had caused it be so hellish for me.

Not this year. This year, coming up on the 6 year mark of my grandmother's death, I want to remember the woman that was the rock and the glue of two small families. I want to remember the person that I was nicknamed "Little Dot" for taking after her so much.

Not that it was always a compliment. Like me, my grandmother, Dorothy Beauvais Prestenback, was a passionate woman - a person of extremes. She could be downright nasty and wicked, and turn right around and be the most loving, warm and generous person you ever stumbled across. Being a passionate, stubborn and strong-willed woman wasn't the easiest thing for a woman born in her time and I know a lot of her life was spent in constant conflict with these very demons; damaging qualities as much as they were also the beauty that made her her.

We shared a dark and hateful side that always threatens to surface - we shared similar addictive struggles; she with her drinking and I with my cutting. Though we never discussed these things, there was a shared and unspoken understanding between us both. There were times, when we'd talk alone, we'd tell each other "I know you're the only one who'll understand this." What we meant was "you're the only person that understands me." Perhaps it's that Beauvais blood that produces such complicated women.

Whatever her downfalls, my grandmother was an amazing woman. One could not know her and not be in awe of her in some way. She let nothing stand in her way, and not a soul or a thing would've survived her protective wrath if it involved her children or grandchildren. She loved to buy us things - she loved to just spend time with us - she loved to see us happy.

I remember the twinkle of devilment in her eye when she was cracking a joke, the sharp bite of her tongue when she scolded us, the all-embracing warmth of one of her hugs. I miss those hugs. I remember her dynamic personality, how much her friends loved her, how much we all relied on her. I remember the smell of her Giorgio Red perfume and her penchant for red hair dye. I remember thinking, as a child, that in her younger pictures she looked like a beautiful 40's movie star. Though there are actual days that go by now where I don't think of her, she's never but a second's skip from my heart. I still talk to her, I still ask her for advice and complain to her when life is just too much. I know she hears me - I know she's out there somewhere, still understanding complicated-little-me. But I still miss her.

I've posted her life story, that I wrote, in case you'd like to get to know this fabulous woman that you'll never have a chance to meet.

That's all I wanted to say.

For you
July 7, 1932 - September 7,1998

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- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 7:02 AM
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