a few things I wish I could say to my grandma.

Last week, I hosted an Adult Show and Tell at the brewery. For my item, I brought a first edition copy of The Land of Oz that my grandma Lorraine, an elementary school teacher, had in her classroom for years. Every classroom book is inscribed with "L Johnson." Many of these books made their way to me, making up a good portion of my own children's book collection. Grandma wanted me to be a teacher (she wanted EVERYONE to be a teacher), but I became a librarian - in no small part because of her.

Ever since saying those same words to the Adult Show and Tell group last week, I've been thinking about my grandma a lot. My grandma Lorraine passed away when she was just a few months shy of 99 years old. She and I were close - I think because we were similar in a lot of ways. We both loved reading, history, and travel. I wore her wedding dress (which was also my mom's wedding dress) when I married James. 

She was a strong, intelligent, and independent woman, and that's exactly what I wanted to be.

Grandma could be critical, and she could be pessimistic. Her sharp tongue could hurt those she was closest to, though I don’t recall it being aimed at me. If your opinion wasn’t her opinion, you were wrong. Oh, and she LOVED Sean Hannity. She was complicated - she was both who I wanted to be and who I didn’t want to be. As they say, we contain multitudes.

Grandma Lorraine has been gone four years, and in those last four years, I have thought of so many things I'd like to say to her. Questions I'd like to ask her. She lived in Brookings for my entire life, and I'll still find myself absentmindedly driving towards her townhome or her assisted living facility when I'm in town, planning to pay her a visit. 

When I would go visit her, we could talk for hours. We talked about a lot of things, from whatever was going on in my life at the time to stories of her childhood. Since it’s been more than five years since we’ve talked, I have quite a few things I would say to Grandma if I could.

Grandma - 

I'm sorry we made you go to McDonald's so many times when we were little. You and Grandpa humored us every time without a single complaint. I'm not sure if I'd be that gracious, but I've heard from my parents that you will do things for your grandchildren you’d never do for your own children. I'm still sorry, though, because McDonald's is terrible. 

Same goes for the mall. I made you look at SO many feather pens circa 1996-1997. You were so patient.

I know all about your childhood in Irene. That was your favorite thing to talk about. But I want to know more about the rest of your life.

I wish I would have asked you more about your time as a WAVE during World War II. That was a badass thing to do. I know you wouldn't approve of me using the word "badass," but it was.

I want to know more about the man you were engaged to before you met grandpa Harvey. I asked you once and you brushed me off, but I wish I wouldn’t have dropped it. You were young once, too, and I want to know about it.

I am obviously glad you ended up with grandpa Harvey. He had a stroke and lost his ability to speak when I was six years old, so my memories of him before his stroke are quite limited. I want to know everything about him.

You sent me to Norwegian Camp when I was 10. Norwegian Camp sucked SO much, but I'm actually glad you made me go. It's a kick-ass party story. 

I wonder what you'd think about the AncestryDNA testing that we've all done in the years since you've been gone - that I'm not nearly as Norwegian as you thought (just more Danish and Swedish), that Mom's not German at all. I think you'd say the tests were wrong and move on. So I guess I don't wonder what you'd think.

I don't know what your favorite book is. I wish I did. If I had to guess, I would say Little House in the Big Woods. But I wish I didn’t have to guess.

Every time I go by a Perkins, I think of all the the dozens of appetizer platters we shared over the years. I haven’t been to a Perkins since you passed away, and I don’t know if I will go back. That was our place.

You would have loved hearing about my trip to Germany, Denmark, and Iceland - though you would have been crabby at me for not making it to Norway. It's at the top of my list, I promise! 

Things from your life fill my home. Norwegian wall hangings, pewter, your furniture, you name it. I wear a piece of your jewelry most days. Pieces of you are here with me always.

You were the first person I can remember taking me to a public library. I will never be able to thank you enough for that. 

I was working at a library when you passed away, but I don't know if I had told you it was my life's work. It is. I want to tell you I'm a library director now and I have my masters degree. I want to tell you I love going to work every day, and I want to tell you about all the amazing things I've gotten to do at the Rock County Community Library. I think you'd be proud of me. 

Most importantly of all, I want to thank you for raising my mom. She is an amazing lady and one of my favorite people. I don't know what I would do without her. 

Thank you for never once pressuring me to become a mother. You knew me for the first 30-odd years of my life, so it’s safe to say you knew the maternal instincts were lacking. I’d been married for four years by the time you passed away, but you never ever bugged me about having a baby like so many (practical strangers) of your generation did. Thank you.

On a similar note, I wish you could have met Phineas. He was born the day before your birthday. I was really hoping the two of you could have shared a birthday, but the doctors had other plans. In any case, I think you'd really like him. 

I don't believe in heaven, but you did. That was a comfort to you when those close to you passed away. Yours was the first funeral I attended after which I had arrived at the conclusion heaven didn't exist and the goodbye I was saying to you really was it. I sobbed like my heart had been torn from my body. I felt like it had been.

So while I don't believe I will see you again, I do think we got a lot out of our time together. There's always more to say, though. What really matters is that I knew how much you loved me, and I hope you know how much I loved you. I think you did.