Friday, March 18, 2011

My grandma died today. She was 100 1/2.

Did you meet her? I loved her. She was quite a grandma.

She taught me to always walk on the street side when escorting a woman, to open her door, and to offer my arm for her to hold onto. She was an artist, and I loved her paintings. Everybody loved her paintings. I'm sure she taught me many other things, probably ingrained so deep I'm not even aware of them. I am sure that I am in part her now.

I loved the way she moved her hands, and I don't think anyone else noticed. I don't know how to describe it. By the time she was 100, her fingers were a little too large for the gestures she was unconsciously making, but I could see the elegance of their movements even then. I could see the artistic power in them. I've always been envious of that. I wish I could move my fingers like she could move hers. I think I have a sliver of her talent in my thoughts, but not my fingers, not like hers.

I don't like how she went. She had to give up her house, which was hard for her, her well-being was the source of a lot of unnecessary drama between my father and uncle, and she forgot her family in the end. I wish we had a better way to go, where we could pick our time and celebrate our lives and be surrounded by our family. I wish I could have spoken to her one last time. I don't like all of the unsaid things.

I imagine the negative space of whatever quantum remnants of her consciousness are mingling with grandpa's now. It makes me happy to know that I got to be in the same universe as both of them.


  1. Dave. Sorry to hear about your grandma. When my grandmother died, I realized that what she witnessed was lost to time. Born in 1902, she grew up with horses being the only transportation other than bicycles and feet. Mail and Telegram were the only long distance communication other than yelling. Within her lifetime we developed radio, cars, airplanes, television, vaccines, antibiotics, rockets, space travel, computers, well, just about everything other than the wheel and gun powder. Witnessing how that transformed the world... I don't know that we'll ever see again. And it's gone. All that aside from the love, the hands so soft, and skin thin as paper. Always loving and approving. Always with a ham in the oven, ivory soap on the sink. Grandmothers will be missed. My condolences. It's been along time since Transmeta. I'm working with Rowan Hamilton now at Qualcomm. Miss your humor and foul tales of the industry's underbelly. Take care friend. Dale Palmer

  2. My condolences Dave. My grandmother was also a painter and I used to remember the smell of the oil paints in her basement.