A letter to her sister. Thinking about Gram as a twenty year-old woman is hard. I get this image but she always has grey hair. That every image of her from that time is the obvious black and white, doesn’t help. You can tell in the pictures of her as a peanut sized person with her twin brother, that she is so blonde, but in my head grey hair always. At lunch, after Pop’s funeral, one of my Dad’s first cousins pulled me aside.
“The way you looked today, the way you carried yourself across the room to say your dad’s eulogy – Tara, you looked just like Hazel.” She looked a smidge worried, that I would be insulted to be compared to a withering woman, but it’s still the loveliest compliment I have ever been paid.
Imagining Gram to be anything like the twenty year old I was, makes me laugh. I mean, laugh out loud, while people are watching me type here alone laugh. But on the other hand, she’s the one who asked my Grampa to marry her.
“Look, we went into business together, your Grampa, our friend, and me, If I was going to get my money back, I had to marry one of them.”