In Loving Memory Virginia Bean

My Grandmother passed last night. She was 82. She had a miraculous recovery from ovarian cancer but died of a bladder infection less than a month after my Mom was asked to leave by her brother who then took over her "care". She had a prescription for the infection, but my Mom's brother, looking to his inheritance, never filled it.

This same brother rushed down with flowers and sympathy when they found out about the ovarian cancer, but then couldn't be bothered to let Mom and Grandma (who at that point had recovered significantly) stay with them, or even see them when they were in his town to see a specialist.

The circle of life is inevitable, but I could really do without all the vulture-type drama that surrounds this particular transition of life. I spoke to my Grandfather, a World War II veteran who cried openly on the phone to me. Looking back on her life, she was always so quiet while busy serving her family. She loved to read. She blushed when she told me the story of how she and Grandpa met and fell in love.

When I was six and she came out to Connecticut to help mom when my brother Mikey was born. She scolded me for using too much soap to wash my hands. I would stand there and pump until I had a handful of soap. I wanted to please her so I worked on it. When I felt like I was doing better I asked her to come watch me wash my hands. I only gave three pumps and felt so proud of myself. She said, "You're using too much soap." At the time I was really mad at her, but as we were leaving the airport for her to fly home I cried to see her go.

When I was ten I stayed with them for part of the summer. Grandma chased me around the yard because I refused to take a bath after several days. Grandpa finally caught me and talked me into it. She and Grandpa took us to the Oregon Caves, the logging mills, seedling farms, Crater Lake (They let us go swimming in our clothes...we insisted. They also let us walk back to the car soaking wet and cold. Consequences.) When it rained they let us go into the old pasture and jump around in the mud up to our elbows. What great fun! Grandpa was building a two story building and was excavating the dirt out of the bottom of it. James and I thought it was so much fun to go in and help dig out the dirt. After we got back home Grandpa called and said he missed his dirt diggers. I didn't realize he meant us, so my first thought was, "Well, I didn't take them."

We would spend every Thanksgiving up in Oregon. It was our family tradition. We'd shoot guns, ride motorcycles, walk through the woods, chase around on the Odyssey, and cut down our Christmas tree right before it was time to go home. As we got married and great-grandchildren got thrown in the mix Grandma and Grandpa's two bedroom one bath house seemed to shrink. The last Thanksgiving I spent up there I was pregnant with Elle. James & Kristi, Mikey and Paul were there and Daddy was still alive. You never fully appreciate moments so precious until they are an unreproducible memory.