Gumma

My grandmother, Gumma, died last night. She was a great grandmother. She was my favorite grandparent. She has been essentially 'gone' for the past ten years, so in many ways this is a blessing. But I missed her then, and I miss her now.

I remember that she was born Regina on February 24, 1919. Her mother died shortly after her birth, her father wouldn't look at her for two weeks, and when he finally did, he renamed her RoseMarie, after her mother. I remember that she was raised by her father and his sister, who moved in after her mother died (she called her aunt "Mama Peggy"). I remember stories about her childhood growing up in Berkeley. I remember running out to her big powder blue car when she picked me up from grade school. I remember going to her house after school and eating ice cream out of bowls shaped like halved apples. I remember her making me "rose tea" (the bags had pictures of roses on the ends) with a LOT of sugar and milk. I remember that her embroidered candy house was always full. I remember eating in front of the TV on TV tables at her house (big treat!) I remember her driving me to play practice at night while my dad was getting a bone marrow transplant and in the hospital for 6 months (and my mom was always with him). I remember that right before I started Stanford she brought me a newspaper clipping of Justin Armour and told me I should meet him at school (and he turned out to be practically the hottest (if most religious) guy in my entire class).

Yesterday morning I went and said goodbye to her. I feel so lucky I was able to see her one last time, even if she wasn't really there anymore. She will be missed.