Mad Scientess Jane Expat
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The last thing my maternal grandfather ever said to me was "I'm so proud of you." He died almost exactly one year before I handed in my dissertation, and was the only family member who would have been capable of understanding it.
The last thing my maternal grandmother ever said to me was "Goodbye, Helen." (Helen was her twin sister.)
The last thing my paternal grandfather ever said to me was "You're a good girl." He had no idea which grandchild I was. Then he tried to give me fifty dollars, which I didn't take.
I never spoke to my paternal grandmother. She died three days before I was born.
i was reading through old livejournal entries yesterday, and i had managed to forget until then that the last time i saw my maternal grandmother, she didn't know who i was. same with my paternal grandfather, and my great uncle. it's heartbreaking.
I never spoke to my maternal grandmother. She died when Mom was 14. StepGrandma is still around, but Mom's rather estranged.
I only saw my maternal grandfather once or twice in person, since he lived in Colorado and we in NY. He was quite old and I was quite young, and all I remember is him moving very slowly and occasionally looking at me in a sort of confusion. I never really spoke to him on the phone. He died when I was 15.
The only thing I can remember my paternal grandfather saying to me was gently but firmly telling me not to touch the tiny potted cacti on his desk because "It'll hurt and you'll go 'ow'". My only other memory of him was his funeral, when I was about 7. Also one of only two times I've seen my dad cry.
Granny's still around, and is learning the internet. The last thing she says to me will likely be in email.
Paternal grandfather passed away before Dad even came to the US, and have no memories of paternal grandmother, though there are pictures of her and baby me. Met maternal grandfather only once, when I was a youngun. I came home from school to two new people: a kneeling older man with his arms outstretch, and a plump, tan, smiling older woman behind him. I vaguely remember thinking, "what the hell?" but I did the right thing by running into his arms and giving him a hug. It's embarassing, but I THINK I've seen maternal grandmother since then, but not sharing a common language does hinder the bonding process.
eine sowe hat genug (Forgive the spelling I never learned formal German. One pig (f) has had enough. I was four it made me laugh. It never got me to slow down about eating, though. )
Paternal grandmother: Good-bye Sherri. (She thought I was my much older cousin on the bad days.)
Maternal grandfather: I'm going down, Dot, I'm going down. (I look a lot like my maternal grandmother, Dot, so this one didn't bother me.)
My maternal grandmother is still alive and full of opinions. I just hope our last conversation isn't something inspired by Bill O'Rielley. =\
One of the last things that my aunt said to me was "I'm scared." and I looked in her eyes and I could see the fear. While I don't necessarily have the same beliefs as her, it's disturbing to see someone who was so sure in their faith begin to realize that the brain cancer will in fact kill them. I'm sure the last thing she said to me was something mundane that I don't remember because we both thought that we'd see each other again. Unfortunately I arrived in San Diego about 1.5 days after she became comatose, which really sucks. I can't remember what she used to sound like, and I want to be able to hear her voice so badly.
I never met my paternal grandfather and grandmother. They both lived in Greece and my father always seemed keen on keeping his family at a distance. My grandfather died before I was born, but I was able to speak to my grandmother. All I made out of her last words to me on a bad long distance connection was her referring to me by my Greek nickname ("little Peter") and asking how I was- "Tikanis, Petrakis?".
Due to throat surgery, my maternal grandfather was unable to speak shortly before dying unexpectedly (they gave him the wrong medication at the hospital- something apparently intended for the chemotherapy patient in the next bed- and it caused his heart to fail). He did ask me to sit by his bed and hold his hand the night before; I always think of that as our last "conversation". I think it was his way of telling me he loved me.
I don't remember my maternal grandmother's last words; she faded away so slowly, having been bedridden for many years after a very high fever hurt her brain. My last memories of her are more of a collage of tender expressions that fade into near-silence as she became less able to function.