A grandmother is a precious gift

She was a feisty petite woman with the temper of a tidal wave and she can stop you in your tracks with her razor sharp glare if you tick her off; she took no BS from anyone. She reminds me of Shirley MacLaine.

She could charm her way into anyone’s heart and knew how to get things her way.

She blazed the trail of the working mother long before it was acceptable for women to have babies and become entrepreneurs at the same time.  She set up her own string of businesses, despite her husband’s well-earning job.

At fifty-eight years of age, she had raised seven kids and survived her husband’s early death.

At 60, she had the agility of a twenty year old, a vision of movement as she walked up and down her farm. She was the most hardworking woman I’ve ever known; she never seemed to tire.

And when her son’s marriage fell apart, she took the job of raising two granddaughters, my sister and myself.

We grew up with two housekeepers, a cook and a laundry woman, yet we were not spared from doing our own share of household chores. She taught us the value of independence, waking up early and getting on with the tasks at hand.

When the family’s finances came crashing down and we had to do away with housekeepers later on, we were quite equipped and ready for it.

My teenage years with her were turbulent.  Born in 1920, she was raised in an era where young girls were not supposed to wear jeans and mini skirts, never see a boy outside of the house unchaperoned and had to be home by six in the evening.  And if you let a guy hold your hand before you’re married, you have committed the most scandalous act of all!

Growing up with her was like living in a girl scout’s camp.  It was all rules and discipline, life in a series of do’s and don’ts.

Being the textbook case of a rebel child, I hated all the values she tried to instill in me and accused her of child labor for all the household chores I had to do. I left home for university resolving never to set foot in her house again.  I smoked and partied and did all the things she disapproved of.

As the years passed by, we slowly healed our relationship.  The distance in between and sporadic meetings made our hearts grow lovingly towards each other.  It became a sweet and tearful reunion every time.

When I moved abroad and realized I had to do things on my own, the wisdom and the value of all the things she taught me suddenly became clear.

I thank the heavens for all the lessons she relentlessly poured on my sister and myself.

And it was not until I gave birth to my first and then my second child later on that I truly understood and appreciated the full extent of all her hard work and sacrifices.

She turned 90 this January; we greeted her a happy birthday and she saw my babies on Skype.  With her failing health and all, I asked her to hold on and wait for me, I’ll be flying home in July with the whole family.

That was our last conversation.  She joined the ranks of angels today.

A grandmother is a precious gift, a treasure, kind and rare.  She can spoil you when you’re a little child and she will braid your hair.  She’ll teach you about faith and she’ll worry when you’re far away.

And when your own mother decides to leave, she will take over and do all the things a mother should, and she’ll pray for you everyday.