In Memory of Margaret
Memoir & Eulogy
I realize now that my grandma’s influence on my life was far greater than I ever understood. It wasn’t until this year that I truly began to reflect on who I’ve become — and in so many ways, I’ve blossomed into her. Her empathy, her way of seeing the world, is now my own. I approach challenges, or at least hope to, with the same quiet strength she did, with a focus on others’ needs. Her kindness toward every living being, whether human or animal, shaped the way I view the world, inspiring me to act with compassion. I know that the values she instilled in me will always guide my actions. It’s easy to see how those values took root in my childhood, where so many of my fondest memories revolve around time spent with her.
A lot of my childhood is filled with memories of school pickups and afternoons spent by her side. She taught me profound empathy, especially towards animals, and was a nurturing figure not just to her seven children but to all the community cats, earning her the affectionate nickname "Grandma Kitty."
I want to share her story because she was truly an unbelievable woman and the epitome of "grandma" to me. By sharing my personal memories, I hope her spirit lives on in both our hearts and on paper. Here’s to the remarkable woman who shaped my world.
My grandma was born on April 1, 1935, in Salt Lake City, Utah. She then moved to Kansas, and eventually Indianapolis, Indiana, where she made her home. She attended St. Mary’s Academy through St. Mary's German Catholic Church and graduated from Marian College in 1957 with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English. During her time there, she was the editor of The Fioretti, secretary of the senior class, Third Order novice mistress, and a member of The Players, Bel Canto, Sodality, and the Latin-German club. She also had many short stories and poems published, and once produced and directed a fantasy/comedy student play. She even made a special debut as a puppeteer in a Shakespearean puppet show of Romeo & Juliet.
In the years between that part of her life and my introduction, she married, had seven children, filed for divorce (ahead of her time — do I taste feminism?), became vegan (with the exception of hot fudge sundaes), and explored elements of Hinduism as she later embraced the teachings of Sathya Sai Baba. Then, I entered the picture. The grandma I knew was a woman who fed and named all the community cats, gardened, had a little tan dog named Sandy, listened to NPR, and watched PBS. I never heard her curse a day in her life, nor did she speak ill of anyone. I can still hear her signature “ohhhh” whenever she disagreed with something. She always had a gentle smile, one that exuded calmness and contentment.
Most of the moments that replay in my mind are of her picking me up from elementary school in her little 2001 Toyota Camry. We’d drive across the street to Dairy Queen, where they knew us as regulars who always got hot fudge sundaes. They would joke with her that I could work there when I grew up — and I did, getting my first job there when I was 15. Thank you, Grandma.
Afterward, we’d go back to her place where she’d have an unfolded TV tray waiting for me in front of the couch. I’d either watch her prepare my fresh apple slices with peanut butter and caramel or plop on the couch and await my snack while watching PBS Kids. Her home was small, the end unit of a 1939 triplex townhouse. It always smelled like cat litter, grandma soap, and… Jergens? I can never really place the last scent, but it was certainly cozy. My afternoon naps on her couch, waiting for my mom to come home from work, were otherworldly.
It always felt like spring there.
She would always take me to the Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art. I remember walking around and seeing the art and preserved cultural objects. It smelled earthy and woodsy with soft, fibrous textile scents. A lot of the styling in her home as well as her clothing was similar to the palettes and designs displayed in the museum. One time we took the bus – it was my first time riding the bus. She thought it was a necessary experience. I remember it to this day.
She was a Democrat. I wish I could have met her 20, 30 years ago as I am now and had in-depth conversations with her. I never had the chance to speak with her after 2015. A lot changed in my life during those years, and when circumstances finally shifted, we were able to reconnect in 2020. However, by then, Alzheimer’s had already begun to take hold. I missed her last lucid years. When I picked her up for our first lunch together, it was hard. I was 18. We sat down at Steak ‘n Shake, and I told her the same life update over and over again. Each time, she was elated to hear the news.
“I actually don’t have to pay for anything because of this scholarship.”
“Wait, what scholarship?” Her face confused; her eyebrows furrowed. She’s confused as to why she’s confused.
“The Lilly one — so I graduated last year and was awarded this scholarship where…”
She looked at me, fascinated, listening intently to every word I said. She cheered for me each time I told her I received it. I went on about everything I was involved in and asked if she remembered Marian College. She didn’t.
“I go there — well, Marian University now. I may be majoring in English, just like you did!” I told her about her time there. She lit up, but in a way as if she was pretending to remember.
“Aww, how nice. How are you paying for it?” The conversation reset. The gentleman in the booth behind us paid for our meal, our waitress telling me his heart was touched overhearing our conversation.
As I look back, my grandma will always be the one who picked me up from school, made sure I ate, and shared quiet moments on her couch. She’ll forever be memorialized as the grandma from my childhood — the woman who nurtured me. Yet, as the years passed, I began to see her differently.
Time, as it does, changed things.
The woman I knew was still there — but the Alzheimer’s was relentless. It was like witnessing a slow unraveling, as she slipped away, leaving her reaching for something she couldn’t grasp. It takes away the experiences, memories, and characteristics that truly make up a person’s identity. It’s disorienting to witness, feeling helpless from the outside looking in. I felt the loss of our shared memories, but there was always still a connection. She always smiled at me the same way and often stared at me with her big blue eyes, which she so generously passed on to me. She always kept her laugh and soft tone with me.
When we knew it was time, I drove overnight from New York to Indiana. The last day I spent with her, she brightened when she saw me. She remembered me. She spoke slowly, softly, and only a few words at a time before falling back asleep.
“It’s so nice to see you…”
“Your hands feel so nice…”
She would sometimes just stare at me happily for five, ten minutes at a time. I would smile back.
She puckered her lips when I applied her chapstick. She gently squeezed my hands back. She hadn’t eaten in days, so I went to pick up something special. She opened her mouth for small spoonfuls of a hot fudge sundae.
I wish I could share with her how much she has shaped the person I’ve become, how her empathy, kindness, and unwavering spirit have influenced my life in ways I’m only just beginning to understand. Although Alzheimer’s took away many of her memories, it could never erase the love and wisdom she imparted. Her legacy lives on in me, in every act of compassion, every moment of strength, and every time I choose to honor the lessons she taught me. I will always see her in every animal I save, every poem I write, every time I choose selflessness over my ego, and in every hot fudge sundae.
I miss you grandma, and I love you so much.
