My grandmothers, 92 and 93 years old, both have had strokes in the past three weeks.

My paternal grandmother, who will be 94 in February, had hers in mid-October.  The right side of her face is paralyzed, which is making her speech unintelligible, but she may recover with speech therapy.  When my parents visited her immediately after the stroke, they couldn’t understand anything she said, with the exception of “Thank God you’re here.” 

On Monday, my maternal grandmother, who turned 92 in July, had yet-another stroke—at this point I’ve lost count—and this time isn’t expected to survive.  Her entire left side is paralyzed, and she is not rebounding, so Hospice is keeping her comfortable with pain medication until she passes away.  My mother said, “She is in God’s hands.”

Unfortunately, I don’t know either of my grandmothers well.  My paternal grandmother has lived in Syracuse, New York, her entire life, and my family moved from there when I was four years old.  My maternal grandmother lived on Long Island, New York, until she relocated to Cincinnati a few years ago to be in a nursing home near my mother.

Living first in Louisville, Kentucky, then in Cincinnati, Ohio, with my family, we drove the 12 hours to New York every summer for years, spending half of our trip visiting my father’s side of the family in Syracuse, then driving the additional six hours to Long Island to visit my mother’s relatives.  But, as my four brothers and I got older and had differing summer schedules, the annual trips stopped. 

My mother’s parents wouldn’t fly, so they would drive to visit us every couple of years, but my dad’s mother visited us rarely.  And, as they all got older, their visits decreased, then stopped too.

With a maximum of two visits per year with each grandmother, it was impossible to develop a close bond.  But, I love them both, and I will never forget how supportive both were when I announced my plan to try to have my own child via donor-sperm insemination.

Both were in their late 80s at the time, both Roman Catholic.  But, instead of judging me, they gave their support.  My paternal grandmother was especially excited for me, calling me often, telling me how much she was rooting for me, checking in during my high-risk pregnancy, then during my son’s first few months.  I had never spoken with her so often, but our regular phone communication stopped when, a few months after my son was born, her health deteriorated, and she was put into a nursing home.

I visited her in Syracuse almost four years ago for her 90^th birthday and haven’t been back since.  However, I’ve seen my maternal grandmother during almost every trip to Cincinnati since she moved there, but she has been suffering from Alzheimer’s, sometimes talking to me as me and sometimes as if I’m my mother.

She hates being in a home, so I’ve been relieved that, mentally, she’s been living in another time.  During my most-recent visit, when I asked her how she spent her days and if she watched a lot of TV, she told me that she works all day, then has to go home to cook and clean, so she doesn’t have time to watch television.

Both of my grandmothers were progressive for their day. 

My maternal grandmother was an amazing basketball player in high school.  She didn’t get married until her late 20s, uncommon in those days.  She worked as a secretary while my mother and uncle were growing up.  She had longed to travel and did so with my parents—to Ireland—after she retired.

My paternal grandmother also wasn’t a typical housewife and mother.  She shared all household responsibilities with my grandfather until he died, leaving her as a single parent to five children, ages 9 to 19.  She worked for decades in the court system, never having any interest in dating because no one could replace her beloved husband.  She’s still feisty, wearing leopard-skin clothing and funky hats, bragging about how people think she looks like she’s in her 70s.  And she does…

I have much respect for both women, both of whom were strong enough to defy expectations of 1940s and 1950s housewives and instead made careers for themselves.  Neither had an easy life.  But, they made it, through children, through careers, though the deaths of their husbands, through grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I will be forever thankful to both for the example of their lives and for their love.  I hope I live long enough to provide unconditional love and support to my grandchildren and great-grandchildren too.