My Grandma Odessa
My grandma had a stillness of one moment, followed by another. And in those moments she shared her stories from long ago, in full color and tell-all style.
My grandma Odessa grew up in a rural Louisiana shack, born 100 years ago to a girl who just turned 15. Barely learning to read, her chance for an education ended when the local school fell into disrepair and was closed. She worked in fields, on farms, in a raincoat factory, and as a housekeeper.
At 28 she lost all of her teeth. At 38, she lost all of her kids when she left my grandpa. No matter the reason, a poor woman leaving a marriage in 1960 usually meant leaving with nothing but the blame. My grandma became estranged from her kids and had a hard midlife, struggling with alcoholism.
She moved in with my family when I was six and my parents’ were separated. My whole world seemed to be falling apart. My dad moved out and my mom was gone from home working several jobs.
My grandma had a stillness of one moment, followed by another, and in those moments she shared her stories from long ago, in full color and tell-all style.
There were joyful stories that warmed her face into a wrinklier one that smiled – and unbelievably, tragically sad ones when she would pull out her handkerchief hidden in her bosom, to wipe away the tears that followed.
But unlike the drama I watched on TV, when bad things happened in her stories, they were barely noticed and life just moved on. No dramatic music, no happy ending, not even a conclusion.
After almost every story, my grandma gave me the same advice – get an education. Not to buy more stuff or feel validated. But because getting an education means having choices.
“When you get old, you pay for all the things you did when you were young,” she would tell me when her body hurt. But she kept on, having faith that she could still find joyful moments.
She found those moments working in the garden growing beautiful flowers and foods. And she found those moments by sharing her stories, seeking out other people’s stories, and making connections.
My grandma Odessa was a bit of an over-sharer, and I’m so grateful for that! Her stories pushed me outside of my pretty privileged existence long enough to be able to actually see it.
While my grandma’s stories didn’t completely stop me from being malcontent with the state of the world, they did help me stay grounded in gratitude. And they made me think more deeply about how I wanted to use the opportunities I had, knowing how rare they were. She taught me these three things:
An education is a gift that few people get and no one can take away.
Stories are about healing, sharing, teaching, and connecting.
Finding ways to create things you love will help keep you going.
10,000 xoxo (Love, she wrote).
