Friday the 13th: In Memoriam

mood: sad smile
pandora/ipod: "let it be" by aretha franklin

I have a small family. Like really small. Like minuscule. I'm an only child. My dad is an only child. My mom has one sister (with four kids) and only two first cousins. Small. Minuscule.

Both of my grandfathers were dead before I could remember them, but thankfully I had Grandmas around. And today, I'm remembering my dad's mom, Grandma Haskin.

Loretta Mae McNeil Haskin was born in Omaha, Nebraska, moved to California in her early 20's and until the day she died used phrases like "pocket book" and "soda pop." She was a die hard Catholic who went to church EVERY DAY after she retired and volunteered at the parish. She buried two husbands. She was in a bowling league. She was utterly adorable.

I owe a great deal of who I am to Grandma Haskin. We were nothing alike. She was kind and good and patient and caring in a way that I can only aspire to. She was stunningly beautiful, in a way which I could never even pretend to match. She wasn't exactly a scholar, and while I don't trace my brains or my musical talent to that side of the family, she did bestow two, er, valuable items on me. Apparently, I got my boobs from Grandma Haskin. (Thank you!!!!)

When my dad took off and left my mom and I high and dry when I was two, one of the most supportive people in both of our lives was Grandma Haskin. She was a babysitter and confidante, support system and Santa Claus. She was there when my father was not. In fact, she disowned him completely and dedicated most of her life to making sure I was well looked after. She even hid from us the reasons why she disowned her only son, reasons I didn't discover until after her death.

Grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in college and my mom made sure she had a ride to every single doctor's appointment and treatment session. In the end, it was a heart attack that got her. As traumatic as it was for me to lose her (her death was the worst I've ever had to deal with) I count it a blessing that she went quickly and painlessly...and pre-chemo.

Loretta Mae McNeil Haskin lived a quiet life in a quiet house with quiet friends. She never sang in an opera. She never performed with the circus. She never wrote a novel. But she was and is and always will be the guardian angel on my shoulder, making sure I'm okay, choosing wisely, acting with good intentions.

So why do I remember her on THIS of all days? Because Grandma Haskin refused to leave on the house in Friday the 13th. Yep, completely and utterly refused. Even for church. And my mom and I still call each other every Friday the 13th to remember Grandma and joke about her silly superstitions.

Silly as they may seem, I count myself lucky for her old-world beliefs. Why? Because every Friday the 13th I get to remember her. Not on her birthday. Not on Christmas. On this day that she loathed and feared, and which defined her.

I miss you, Grandma. I always will.