Today marks the 33rd anniversary of my Grandmother’s passing, when I was 8 years old. She died suddenly in the parking lot of Roosevelt Field mall on a bright cold Christmas shopping-type morning, with my mom at her side. It was the first time I became acquainted with “Sister Death”. I thankfully still carry glimpses of her in my heart – her soft Bohemian-tinged accent, the dark blue cardigan she wore in the winters, the housecoats she wore in the summers, her smell, the warmth of her embrace, the priceless stories she weaved out of thin air for us. She shared with me, my sister and my cousins that fierce and primal love I think is only reserved for grandmothers and their grandchildren.
Gramma, I thank God every day for having been your grandson; I know my fellow grandchildren say and pray the same. You helped make my first years on this earth beautiful, magical, full of wonder and love. I feel your presence and I know you watch over all of us. You are just about my favorite person ever, and I am happy to be your grandson…still.
The Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception
of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Daily Mass Readings