Beatrice Robbins
My more distant memories of Grandma are, for the most part, mental photographs. I remember snapshots of the trip to France that Grandma and Grandpa took me on after fifth grade and of the kitchen, garden, fields and attic of 135 Graham Road. And, I remember brief moments of Grandma driving--always a standard car--as she showed us around the Cornell campus.
My memories of the past year are more actual: the strong smell of gin from Grandma's martini as Joy and I drank eggnog with Grandpa before dinner one night of our visit to the new apartment this past Christmas break. Watching her make poached eggs for breakfast, one morning of that same trip, with so much butter--she buttered the tins and the put at least one pat of butter on each egg--so much butter that I liked poached eggs for the first time in my life, and have ever since. And how she took us on outings every day-- to restaurants, and just to run errands-- and watched movies every night we were there. I'll remember Grandma, Grandpa, and the apartment anytime I watch LA Story, The Madness of King George, or Clueless in the future.
And I will remember how changed she was when she and Grandpa finally moved down here. How weak she was and how quickly she got weaker. But how, somehow, despite everything, she woke up and sang along when Guys and Dolls was on TV. And, how on some morning towards the end of the last week of May, when Mom and Grandpa were at the doctor and the aide hadn't arrived yet, she cracked a frustrated joke:
"I want to get up!"
"Where do you wanna go, Grandma?"
"To the Hard Times Cafe, DC. But, you better just put me in the wheelchair," with something like a knowing grimace.
And, while that's my last clear memory of her conscious, I have such physical momemtos to keep with me as Teddy Bear, my present 20 years ago for being the first grandchild, and the shiny stuffed Santa she gave me for Christmas 94. But with or without stuff, I will always remember her as my youngest, most vibrant, active, lively Grandma. And I will miss her.
Jacob Robbins
The arrival of my grandparents before Christmas was always an important part of the holiday season for me. I realized how much this was true last Christmas when they were not able to come down. There wasn't a sense of festivity without them. I think this is because talking with them made it seem more than a typical family gathering. I remember the way Grandma talked back then. She was very animated and cheery. I also remember watching her drive her stick-shift car when I was in the passenger seat. She told me that she was the automatic transmission for her car, and I was impressed by how effortlessely she handled it. Her car always had the same smell and the same items in the back seat.
Joy Robbins
Whenever I remember Grandma I always think of her doing such wonderful things,always so alive and brilliant. I remember getting myriad postcards with tantalizing blue oceans and shimmering white beaches depicted on their front, her easily recognizable handwriting marching across the back. I would bring these to my mother to help me decipher them; I was not yet familiar with the way all adults seemed to write, connecting their letters into a long flowing stream. She would write about the exotic places they were visiting. I loved the way she had traveled and done so much.
When Beatrice and I went up to visit Grandpa and her in New York, she would often step out to pick up something delicious for dinner. When she did this she would don a red beret and a shiny green jacket, and she would smile at me through Chinese Coral lipstick.
"Goodbye, Joy, be good."
"Goodbye Grandma."
Aaron Robbins
One thing I remember about Grandma and will never forget is her cheeriness and her way of making and sharing laughter.One incident that I can see over and over again is when she gave a remote control car to me for Christmas. Somehow the tags on the presents were switched, so that she received the little red sports car while I almost unwrapped a record of classical songs. There was much merriment that Christmas-as usual. Also I remember Grandma sitting in her reclining chair and looking over the rest of us, sharing our joys and contributing to our laughter. Grandma was overlooking all of us and smiling, and making us smile. She always was willing to give her friendliness and share her good nature. I see her ways of giving and being friendly as a model of life that we should all try to achieve.
Nicholas Messing
To Grandma,
I am writing this after hearing that you have passed away. I know that you were in pain and that now you will finally be at peace. You leave behind many friends and relatives who will greatly miss you and will always remember you as a kind, friendly woman who loved life and loved to make others happy.
Looking through the programs for plays we put together as children, and the letters and pictures I sent to you, I’m reminded of how close we’ve been over the years. I remember many of the trips to the pool, the Sunday phone calls, the great meals you served, and the conversations we shared. You have been a great friend.
I know that you have lived a rich, fulfilling life. You enjoyed the finer things, like music, books, good food, and traveling around the world. You always had so many interesting things to say. I knew you only in the latter part of your life, but I know that you have touched the lives of many others as you have touched mine.
The last time I kissed you good-bye, your eyes opened, and I could tell that you had something you wished to say, but were unable. Words are so awkward, and it is impossible to express what a beautiful person you are and how much I love you. Now that these last words have been said, I bid you good-bye, dear grandmother.
Timothy Messing
When I kissed you goodbye, I saw you awake. You tried to speak and talk to me. No sound came out and I could feel a lump rising in my throat. I realized then that I would not see you alive again.
All the memories that I have of you are reminders of what a kind person you were. Coming over for Thanksgiving every year and seeing you cook in the kitchen I remember when you bought books for me downtown. Worrying if you would make it across the street with Grandpa all right. Seeing you at the beach every summer.
There will be no more memories of you to be added. I know that we are all deeply sad that you are no longer with us. I can only hope that I can keep my memories of you.
I love you, Grandma.
Timothy
Anna Messing
blue pink yellow-so beautiful
your voice in the kitchen--cookies and kisses
I remember you in your chair,with knitting
soft smile, laughter
sweet words
now your voice rings in my ears and in my heart
your arms are around me when I close my eyes
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