I miss you, Granny-panny.

This is my granny-panny, Muriel Epting, and me. She was a master of holding bags, beers, and babies at the same time, obviously. She was always brunette, only going slightly gray toward the end of her too-short-for-me life. She was the Philadelphia Phillies’ biggest fan, and also Busch beer’s. I’m not sure I ever saw her drink any other liquid in my entire life. I remember, vividly, taking a trip to the supermarket as a little, little kid. I was so little that I had to sit in the back seat and my legs kind of stuck straight out because I wasn’t tall enough to bend them around the front of the seat. Grandmom put her Busch between her legs, left the belt unbuckled, and hand-signaled our way to the store (even though the blinkers worked fine). Though all of that would be the worst nowadays, I didn’t feel at all unsafe. I feel like my Grandmom could’ve probably beat people up.

She called people and objects “basterd” a lot. But not in, like, a curmudgeon, old lady way; she knew she was awesome and she knew she could say whatever she wanted. Her husband left her and her two kids one night and she had to work very long hours at Rexy’s Restaurant & Bar in order to keep up with the bills after that and for far too many years (Bill, my affectionate name for my absentee granddad, wasn’t big on the ol’ “child support” idea). My dad and aunt Linda spent much of their tween- and teen-hood learning everything on their own. My dad has become a fabulous cook.

I spent a lot of time at “Aunt Linda’s” (I called it this even though Grandmom still lived there and it had always been her house) as a kid. I have six cousins from Aunt Linda and Uncle Ramone, three of whom are around my age. We’d draw things until dawn, play Jailbreak with the neighborhood nerds, and hang out at the park down the road. I always felt pretty poopy about how much attention Grandmom always showed me; it was as if I was the queen grandkid, even though she had several living with her. I felt like my cousins always resented me, and I never meant to be such a goody-two-shoes in her eyes. She told me several times that I looked like she did when she was my age. Maybe that’s why she liked me so much (we Bellas are pretty vain).

After my parents divorced and we cousins grew up, I didn’t visit as often as I should have and I regret that more and more as the days go on. When I visit with my dad and see the urn holding her ashes (and even as I fucking type this) I just want to cry my eyes out. I hadn’t seen her conscious and well in far too long before I had to see her in the hospital. I think the last time I’d seen her was around Christmas time; she had a habit of falling asleep in her chair by the television. It was as if she outright refused to accept the room and bed my Aunt Linda prepared for her. I’d gotten Grandmom a nice, warm blanket (blue to match her eyes) and a fluffy, comfy pillow. Maybe slippers, too, but I can’t remember. She cried at these gifts and I cried, too, because I wasn’t expecting that reaction. By the time I left that day, she was already snoring away, cuddled up with her new gifts. That was the last time I saw her before I had to say goodbye for good.

I just didn’t have enough time. I mean, I did, but I didn’t use it well. I knew her well during my childhood, but I was too fucking bleh-no-excuse to continue to know her well as I aged. I don’t know enough about her past, her family, her life; I hate that I left that day without waking her up to get a proper goodbye. After the memorial service, the family took a trip to Rexy’s for some of their famous sausage pizza. I’d been a vegetarian for about two years then (this was nearly four years ago), and I contemplated – hard – about throwing that out for the night and engaging in some meaty action. I stopped myself, though, but I think Grandmom would’ve been okay with that. I really, really miss her and hope she’s got plenty of Busch to keep her company, wherever she is.