Saying goodbye to someone you love is a hard thing, even if you know it isn't goodbye forever. It's a hard thing to watch someone who is vital, active and alive in your memories, waste away before leaving this earth. It is hard to watch the light dim and the body give up its efforts. But it is also a gift to say one more goodbye, one more "I love you."
Tutu wasn't your
typical grandmother. Not in the white-haired, cuddly, bespectacled sense. But even though I have no memories of her getting on the floor to play with me, and I do have memories of her telling me to sit up straighter, I never doubted that she loved me and in my adulthood we developed a friendship that meant a great deal to me.
My grandmother lived an amazing life, full of adventure. She lived on a ranch in Northern California, Rancho Olompali, which is now a California State Historic Site. She lived on Oahu when Pearl Harbor was bombed, her father was actually working in the harbor and he and his crew helped pull survivors out of the water. She lived in a chicken coop for a short while after her marriage to my dad's dad. We call her Tutu because it is Hawaiian for "grandmother" and she was so proud of her life and family history in Hawaii. After her children were grown, she had the opportunity to travel the world playing golf as a People to People sports ambassador with my Papa. She was active and athletic, admired and pursued well into her 80's. She would have been 89 in April.
Tutu was a classy lady. She was the quintessential hostess, always properly mannered, educated on the events of the world, and with a roguish sense of humor that could crack up any group. She had a great laugh, deep and wheezy from years of smoking, but full and hearty too. She was always well-dressed and perfectly coiffed, her nails a pretty pink or bright peach. She looked incredible for her age--at all her ages! She was a beautiful woman, and even did some modeling in her teens.
When I was 8 my sister and I were taught proper table manners and all the elements of a full table setting in preparation for a Christmas trip to a resort in Arizona with my grandma and one of the many men who adored her. Despite all my education on which spoons to use for what, I didn't learn ahead of time that when you are served an 8-course meal, you need to be careful not to clean your plate on all the courses, no matter how good it tastes. One night I was so full by the ice cream round that I got sick. I was so embarrassed and thought I would disappoint everyone, but my grandma didn't care a bit, she just felt badly that my tummy was upset.
Until breaking her hip three years ago, Tutu was always moving. She hated to be idle. If she wasn't golfing or walking or tidying, she was knitting or doing needle point or playing cards. She was a gin-rummy wiz--of course, to be kind to those of us who were not nearly as skilled as she, we only played for pennies and nickles. Golf was a huge part of her life. I learned how to play just so I could have the chance to play with her, but we only ever made it to the driving range together because I am still not good enough to play on anything but a par 3 course. Many of my memories of her include golfing. Watching her play, her home on Newport Beach's Big Canyon Golf Course, another home at Big Island Golf and Country Club, watching golf on TV with her. She'd get pretty excited and always had fantastic, funny commentary about the players. It wasn't until her later years that she would even consider riding in a golf cart.
As a child I remember playing at her home in Newport Beach, CA. She had a fountain on the back patio with a lava rock waterfall. I used to play on that waterfall for hours with the Weebles and Mouse Trap mice, stashed away in a box up in the closet, taken down only when the grandchildren came to play. Her home had a magical feel to it, big and grand, with decor that required carefulness, "one-finger-touch" my mom always said, but held such fascination that I was drawn to it. One of my favorites was the big basket of glass and marble eggs she had next to the fireplace. She would let us granddaughters dress in her fancy, lovely clothes and shoes and put on her sparkly jewelry, and she'd give us beauty tips, like always making sure to wash our face, every night, even if it was very late, and afterward we always needed to put on a nice thick cream. I loved taking baths in her HUGE marble tub. It was like a swimming pool to my little-girl body!
When I was 13 she took my parents, sister and I on a cruise to Alaska. For our road-tripping family, it was the biggest vacation I had ever had! My sister and I felt so glamourous. I remember one night Tutu showed us several of the pictures taken by the on-board photographer that she had picked up in the photo gallery. My dad said, "Wow, you bought all those pictures?" (they were pretty pricey!) And Tutu said, "Oh, you were supposed to buy them?" It was so funny! We all had a good laugh, and then she turned to my sister and I and said, all seriousness, "Do as I say, not as I do!" Then she cracked a smile and we were all in hysterics.
One of my favorite memories of her in my adulthood is a visit I made to her over spring break in my freshman year of college, I visited her at her home in Rancho Mirage, CA. We went for evening walks around the golf course community and laid by the pool with books in the sunshine. At cocktail time, she introduced me to the Sea Breeze. She took me shopping and out to dinner. One night we went out to a new club in the area, and quickly realized it was a gay bar. We had a huge laugh and then stayed for awhile, confident that we would have a nice relaxing evening, neither of us in any danger of being hit on!
Tutu certainly wasn't old-fashioned. When Adam and I announced our engagement, she encouraged us to live together for a little while first and push the wedding back. Not the kind of advice you'd expect from your grandma! We still chuckle about that. Although we did not take her advice, I know she was only worried that we were so young and concerned that we were rushing things. When we did get married she was there to support us. She even came to visit us in Provo.
When her companion, Ben, died about 6 years ago, she moved up to Seattle to be close to my Dad. It was so nice to have her so near for the year we were all living there before our move to Colorado. Growing up she always lived so far away, and I am envious of the many wonderful memories my older cousins have of time they spent with her. On all of our trips back to Washington over the past five years we always made a point to spend some time with Tutu. The boys were so sweet with her. We would play in the swimming pool at her retirement community and take the boys to the park just down the street. I think it brought her great joy to see the little boys running around, calling her Tutu, showing off their skills for her. They always got her laughing.
Last Sunday night my dad let our family know that my Tutu had gone on hospice care after her appetite had disappeared and she was no longer eating. For a handful of years now her mental and physical health has been in decline because of small vessel disease, which causes many mini-strokes, but the news that she was failing still felt sudden. I caught a flight out on Monday so I could spend some time with her, say goodbye, and be close to my parents.
I was able to see her on Tuesday and she was still awake and mostly alert. Her speech was really difficult to understand, but her eyes were still light and she seemed so happy to have her family there. Two of my cousins and an aunt were able to come in to see her as well. I could tell that having people she loved around her, visiting with her, meant a great deal to her. She did her best to contribute to conversations, she smiled at us and kissed our hands, held tightly in her own. Even as her time to go was imminent, her incredible golf grip stayed strong! She played with the edges of my hair that frame my face, just like she has done since I was a little girl. It was very tender, it was always a quiet gesture to me that meant I was valuable to her.
It was so good to be there those first two days, before she slipped into deep sleep. And I was grateful to be there to hold her hand, even though she didn't even know I was there, through the two days before her passing. She passed away on Friday, one hour after my sister delivered my new nephew, Kai, to this world. I like to think a bit of her energy, her vitality passed to him in the hour that he struggled following his birth because he had aspirated some of the amniotic fluid. That she gave him a little shove, to keep breathing, be healthy, stay here on this side. The rush of joy hearing of Kai's birth followed by the deep sorrow of her passing...possibly the most intense emotional day of my life. It had rained the entire time I had been in Washington, the weather matching all of our moods, but in the moments after she passed the sun broke through for a couple of hours. It was fitting; she was always a sunshine girl. It proceeded to rain the rest of my visit.
It hurt to let go. It's sad to be the ones left behind. We are all a little bit of who we are because of her. It's still hard to believe she is gone, like she is still there in Washington and we will see her when we go in July. But she is in a better place and free from the bodily limitations that had come to her over the past few years that frustrated and infuriated her. She is walking the golf courses of heaven, a hole-in-one on every hit. I will miss her very much.
My heart has a little piece missing, Tutu's piece. But Tutu was a lady, and a lady always knows when to leave.
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