Still not sure how to end that phrase. The options are boundless, just like viral containment lines. There I’ve done it, I’ve referenced the issue of the day, now can we please move on because honestly I am feeling a bit like COVID is pretty low hanging fruit and I think we can do better. There is certainly some humourous content to be had with COVID but I feel like our various governments have that well covered, so lets shift our focus.
Earlier this week my grandmother died. She was an 81 year old dutch immigrant, mother of four, grandmother of five and great grandmother of my two children. She was a big part of my childhood and a strong female role model in my teens. She was opinionated, clever, practical, capable and often quite hilarious. She came over to Australia on a boat in the 1950’s with her parents, her sister and her sister’s husband to start a new life with her family. She met my grandfather on that boat. My grandfather was a dashing young man in his early 20’s who had escaped the war in what was then Yugoslavia and had found refuge in Italy before being settled in Australia. Neither of my grandparents spoke each other’s language or english when they met. They courted, married and had the aforementioned children. There was clearly some assimilation that occurred during that time as their children’s names evolved from Marjeta, Siebe and Adinda, to Michael. I think the first three kids probably felt slightly ripped off name-wise, especially given how racially tolerant Australia was in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s.
But I slightly digress, as I want to talk about Grandma, this looming yet benevolent presence in my childhood, urging me to eat her delicious meals, playing the mandolin and singing the Adam’s Family theme tune to her miniature chihuahua, Sheena (who took it like a champ, shaking itself towards its next heart attack, with its only protection from the people around it being its powerfully rancid canine halitosis).
It’s weird though, because somewhere along the line, something changed with my Grandma. She kept making glorious smells waft out of the kitchen, she kept singing at the miniature Chihuahua, although Sheena eventually had one too many heart attacks and Tina took her place. Tina was smaller, more frightened of the world and made Sheena’s breath smell like air freshener, but she was also a biter. Ankles were never safe. The family cockatoo learned that one day the hard way. Incidentally, cockatoos dont tend to live full, rich lives without legs; it makes flying then landing on things terribly awkward.
Again I have been led astray by the weird and wonderful background of our terribly odd family. Back to my Grandma, who as I said, was on her second giant rat and none the worse for wear, or so it appeared. She continued to host card nights, go to local dutch dances, host every family occasion under the sun (and some more on top of that) and played in the orchestra. I dont remember any red flags. I know my mum didnt either and neither did her siblings. But one day, seemingly out of nowhere she told Grandpa that she wanted a divorce. There was no discussion. There was no time to digest. She moved out and the house was put up for sale. She never told Grandpa or anyone else why. It was just something that happened. Like when you sneeze and accidentally break wind aloud. It is no one’s fault and you dont need to explain yourself, these things happen, but it does kind of hang in the air, so to speak.
Weirder still was several months later when the house sold and Grandpa moved into a little flat right next to grandma! And before you think Grandpa is a stalker, Grandma told him about it and suggested he move there. Its beyond teenage drama, it was ‘old people’ drama. Turns out old people drama is a lot less reasonable, goes on for much longer and I swear there is more sex involved. I wish I didnt know that, but I do because Grandma gave me blow by blow (get your mind out of the gutter, thats my grandma!!!) details of her MANY exploits, and now I have shared it with you, so we can both sit with that.
Eventually things got much weirder and even quite horrible and she never really seemed to regain any kind of happiness again. Now she is gone and I hope she felt loved and cared for, but of course I cant know. I do remember sitting with her body earlier this week, looking over at her and wondering what the hell happened? I figure her MUE’s either dropped dead from inhaling the noxious fumes of two ugly rat dogs, or she got discount MUE’s minus the lifetime warranty, which we all know is a scam, and here is an example of a time when the warranty could have changed everything. Or, I dont know, maybe her MUE’s had late onset psychosis, or maybe they just never learned English.
Whatever happened, its hard to see someone you love and admire change like that. It changes your relationship with that person. I managed to make the most of my time with her in her last few weeks, but as I sit here I wonder about all of the stories I never heard. I learned about when her family was buying clothes for their voyage to Australia and her father had found a tailor shop with safari suits. The shop was closed, but her father banged on the door until the tailor let him in and nearly two hours later the family left with two new safari suits in tow and a massive grin on her dad’s face. I heard about when they boarded the boat and a man offered to buy my grandmother from her parents. I heard about Grandma arriving in Melbourne from Perth and meeting Grandpa for the first time at a local hostel…..wait, what??? Yep, you read it right. The romantic story of my grandparents meeting on a 40 day voyage across the globe, unable to communicate and yet they fall in love is (I recently learned) apparently utter tripe! Ive told that story to so many people, and I feel now that ship has sailed (figuratively and literally) and there is no point in correcting that false narrative.
Taking that into consideration I am kind of relieved that I am currently too unwell to attend tomorrow afternoon’s wake for Grandma. I’d probably end up finding out she wasnt even dutch!
RIP Thea Cornelia. Rest Easy.
What is luck, anyway? 