My grandmother was stern, and gentle.
She had a way of getting straight to the point. Of bypassing all of the menial information and finding the truth of the matter. She had a way of commanding a room without ever saying a word. The eyebrow raise was enough.
Over a soul-reviving conversation with an old friend last night, I had a chance to remember some of what she meant to me, and perhaps, what I meant to her. My dinner-date-old-friend survived the sudden loss of her father when she was only in her 20s. Her words were so exact - there is no one else in the world who sees me the way he did, she said. No one else in the world who loves me the way he did.
Tears welled up and choked me as I thought of the spaces my grandmother created in my life, of the particular way she saw me. I think of her lenses every day, of simplicity. Of justice, of rightness, of servanthood. I adopt her lenses of the world, and try to see things as she did. I try to see community through her loyal, consistent eyes. I try to see family through her eyes.
And I turn my eyes on myself, trying to see myself as she did. She was proud, caring. Never effusive, but always present. She had a way of letting me be whatever I needed to be in the moment, and not trying to control or manipulate my actions or feelings. In retrospect
My grandmother could command a room with her strength. She carried love in her in a way that was strong, consistent. She dutifully, loyally, and consistently served the people in her community.
I will continue to remember her, to carry her sternness, her eyebrow raise, and her command in my bones and in my breath.