Dating is Miserable but it’ll get you laid

As my Aunt said over the weekend, “all you can do is say ‘fuck’ right now”

My grandparents marriage wasn't perfect but it was the relationship I always hoped I'd have one day.

They were as different as night and day. I remember my aunt and uncles telling tales of family holidays at each house. My grandfather's family, being a typical proper cold English family, required you to dress up, keep quiet and follow the rules. My grandmother's was a loud Portuguese clan where you helped yourself to whatever goodies were in the fridge, plopped down in front of the tv, and wore pajamas if you really felt like it. Both upbringings shone through my grandparents. My grandfather is a strong, silent, methodical type  while my grandmother was his exact opposite; loud and spontaneous.

It wasn't that their marriage was perfect. Parts of my grandparents' time together reads right out of a Rebecca Wells novel but the one thing they always did was stick together. No matter how tough, no matter how crazy, no matter how much their 4 kids, 10 grandkids, and 4.25 (my cousin Sarah is pregnant) great-grandkids drove them insane, no matter what illness, no matter what year it was, my grandparents being together was a constant infallible fact.

My grandparents would have been married for 60 years this February. Throughout my life I don't recall them being very publicly affectionate. It doesn't mean they didn't love each other. I cherish the few memories I have where I was taken aback at how in love they seemed; an overheard conversation between my grandmother and her sister about how happy she was my grandfather was sleeping in their bed again after a bought of cancer, a passionate kiss given on his way to the post office after my grandmother had been diagnosed with kidney cancer, story after story of how they ended up getting married and the parties they used to go to where they'd drink and dance all night, hundreds of cards with the same simple inscription, "I Love You". I am very jealous my sister got to witness one of the final tender moments between them when my grandfather massaged my grandmother's legs, put chapstick on her lips, and assured her she'd feel better despite the fact she was unable to communicate.

My grandmother passed away early this morning. I find it hard to talk about her without talking about my grandfather. The two of them have been together since they were teenagers and in my head they are an inseparable pair. Which is why most of my concern and heartache has been over what my grandfather will do now.  When I've stopped thinking about him for a few minutes  I've been thinking about the things I would miss. My first real breakdown was when I noticed her bathroom didn't smell like her anymore. I'll miss her yelling at me to dye my hair blonde. I'll miss the way she yelled my grandfather's name even when she was sitting next to him. (Everyone in my family has an impression of her. It's beyond hilarious.) I'll miss sitting at a blackjack table with her and all of my cousins as she proudly announces to the dealer, pit boss, janitor, waitress, or anyone who will listen that we're all of her grandkids.   I'll miss our ridiculous bickering. My grandmother and I had a multiple year long heated argument that revolved around Team Aniston (her) and Team Jolie (me). In fact the bickering her and I did will be the thing I miss the most.

That's a lie. It's actually the bickering we won't get to do that breaks my heart the most. She won't be there to criticize my boyfriends. She won't be there to tell embarrassing stories about me. She won't be there to call me Mandy and then apologize profusely and over enunciate my name (A-MAN-DAH).  She won't be there to be furious I didn't want to hold a wedding reception in the Portuguese Hall. She won't be there to condemn my use of non-white flowers in my wedding bouquet. She won't be there to help my future spouse grasp my love of gambling is simply a nostalgic family thing. She won't be there to condemn me for wanting to name a daughter after her.  She won't be there to fight about politics and tell me to go to hell when I denounce Rush Limbaugh. She won't be there to spoil my kids despite my constant refusal. She just won't be there.

So today (well technically the next few days. Hello Catholic funerals!) I say good-bye to my grandma. The woman who purchased my first formal dress, the woman who I got my first tattoo with, the woman who was the glue to my family, the woman who constantly joked how gross it was my brother-in-law and I liked Campari, the woman who co-signed my apartment, and the woman who thought I was the most beautiful girl in the world.

What a shitty fucking day.