I got news late last night that my grandmother is passing away, most likely today. She had a stomach issue and the surgeries to fix it were too risky to pursue, and would have significantly lowered her quality of life. My family has made the decision to allow her to pass on her own, giving her morphine in her final stages to make her comfortable on her way out.
This is, of course, a very sad moment for all of us. My grandmother is a very remarkable woman; she's lived quite a full life, and for the past 5 or so years has been in a home where she could get the continual care she needed. She has had Alzheimer's for quite a while now, and I know that she has struggled with that and other health issues because of that. Though the disease often veiled who she really was, she was still brilliant enough to have moments where her true spirit shone through the disease. It has been sad and difficult to miss her throughout the progress of her illness, and I think she has more than earned her moment of peace.
My grandmother was not and still is not the typical embodiment of a sweet old lady. My grandmother was as strong and vibrant as they come. She had a fire in her I've not seen in anyone else. The flame dwindled with the onset of her disease, but nothing could allow us to forget how strong of a woman she was; not even in her calmest, quietest moments. My parents had me at a very young age, their teens, and my grandmother, living in the apartment downstairs from us most of my life, was absolutely nothing short of a second mother to me. She fed me (too much! but that story is for another post;) she scratched my back as I fell asleep as a kid; she put vapor-rub on my chest when I was sick and let me watch horror movies with her when I couldn't fall asleep. She taught me to be brave. She taught me that no one has the power to weaken me. She would tell me amazing stories about her youth; about being a mother of four and having to supplement their income by getting a job (during a time when women in the workplace was not such an acceptable thing) in which she was sexually harassed and bullied by other women who hated her for her physical beauty and the attention she got, however disgusting, from her boss. She told me about how he had offered her thousands of dollars to sleep with him in a point in her life when she really could have used the money to take care of her sick daughter. And with that story, she helped me understand true strength, integrity, and self-respect. She explained how she bravely went to work every day despite the harassment and bullying and how she repeatedly refused his advances. She made me understand that our bodies are not for sale, that they are precious vessels for our souls that cannot be sold; that honor and self-respect will always be more important than money; that had she taken his offer, it may have helped her daughter in one way, but would have hurt her in another. She taught her daughter, and me, that taking care of and respecting ourselves is the most important thing we can do, both for ourselves but also for the people we love. We have a responsibility to be the best person we can be no matter the circumstances; no matter how difficult and unfair life can be; no matter how tempting it is to take the easy way. She was fearless. She faced her harasser and her bullies with a smile on her face. She would always tell me when I would be bullied as a kid to respond with deep kindness and a giant smile instead of retaliating back in a hateful way. She told me to respond to bullying, (and really, all of life's difficult things) with positivity, and to not give your enemy the satisfaction of knowing that they have any power whatsoever to hurt you. She told me that those who are mean to us are mean because they are in pain, and no matter what a person does to you, you must remember that it is their issues projecting onto you, and that the best thing we can do is keep in mind that if someone is unkind it is most likely because they have something painful or a lack of love in their life and we should show compassion for the person, but not tolerate the behavior. She refused to let anyone or anything stand in her way. She walked the streets at night with confidence and a pairing knife in her purse. She was not a force to be reckoned with. She gave me strength. She gave us all strength, and taught us what it means to have love and passion in your heart.
What's this got anything to do with my weight loss? Quite a lot, actually. In my pre-Weight Watchers days I would have turned to food for solace; I would have used this sad moment in my life as an excuse to be lazy about my eating habits and an excuse to poison my body with fats, sugars, and portion sizes that were so big they'd give me a stomach ache. I would have believed that my body, my confidence and my health was not strong enough to both be sad and be respected and cared for. And as I reflect on my grandmother's magnificent strength, I'm reminded of how utterly ridiculous that is. My grandmother was also a woman of health. She always encouraged me (sometimes not in the healthiest of ways, but we all do the best we can given the tools and lessons life gives us) to be mindful of my weight, to be proud of my physical appearance, to project beauty and strength and to always exercise. The feminist in me cringes at the importance she put on physical beauty, but in the only way she knew how, she was trying to teach me that striving to be beautiful on the outside was really a reflection of how damn important it is to take care of ourselves, and more importantly, to always make sure that we feel confident and beautiful for ourselves. That in every way that we can, we should always be striving to build ourselves up.
I know that there are some who might think it's a bit selfish or petty for me to be thinking about my weight and staying on plan today; to be planning ways in which I can healthfully cope with the sea of comfort foods in the week or so to come (we are Italian; enough said); to be concerned about how I am going to make sure to stay within my points and get a reasonable amount of physical activity in as we grieve a remarkable woman's exit from this world, but I think it's important to realize that being concerned about these things, about our bodies and ourselves no matter how difficult it may be in that moment to do so, is actually a form of coping. It's a healthier way to manage and contain the many emotions that can sometimes overwhelm us whenever we have to face the inevitability of death and the loss of a loved one. Instead of dulling the pain with comfort foods, I will focus on giving my body what it actually needs to healthfully cope with my grandmother's passing. Pasta and brownies and ice cream are not going to comfort me for more than a few minutes and will just lead me to immediately beating myself up for making poor choices, and that's no way to grieve, especially not to grieve my grandmother, pillar of health and fitness. In honor of my grandmother and in respect for myself, I will not allow this bump in the road to have power over me. I will continue to live the healthy lifestyle she so persistently encouraged me to live.
Thank you, grandma, for all of the gifts you've brought to us all. Thank you for the amazing messages and lessons. Thank you for imparting so much of your wisdom, strength, and fearlessness to me. Thank you for showing me how strong a woman can be. Rest with pride, peace, and my undying love and appreciation for you.
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