Rose

My Grandma was a badass.

She survived the holocaust, moved across the world, raised two beautiful daughters, and out-lived two husbands.

In her late 80’s she decided she wanted to learn what that whole internet thing was all about, so she bought a laptop and my brother, Aaron, taught her how to use it from scratch. First, she signed up for e-mail and eventually Facebook. Grandma Rose was a part of the 21st century.

In her 90’s she moved her entire life from Fort Lauderdale, FL to Westchester, NY to be closer to her family as she lived out her remaining few years. It wasn’t an easy transition, but it was one Grandma Rose knew she had to make because her daughters, son-in-laws, and 4 grandchildren were the most important part of her life.

Sharp until her final days, Grandma Rose always tried her hardest to relate and bond with me, no matter how old I was.

When I was younger we would play cards, for money. The money was mostly pennies and nickels, but even that was a lot to me back then. I can’t help but think she is partially responsible for making me into the card shark (Read: Wannabe Card Shark) that I am today.

When I went to college she would tune in to my Sports/Hip-Hop 2 hour weekly radio show, Cleats and Beats, every week. While I’m sure Grandma Rose didn’t have much of an opinion about commonly discussed topics, like, if Eli Manning was truly elite (he is) or if the Marshall Mathers LP is one of the best Hip-Hop albums of all time (it is) she rarely missed an episode.

When she did miss an episode, because of a doctor’s appointment, she would always e-mail me to apologize for not being able to listen. She just wanted to hear my voice and my personality for two hours even if what I was saying meant nothing to her, it really meant everything.

Admittedly, growing up I didn’t appreciate just how special she was. I assumed all grandma’s were like mine and I never took the time to learn more about her, albeit tragic, backstory. However, a few months ago I was inspired by Aziz Ansari’s Netflix show, Master of None, to learn more about my last remaining grandparent, and understand what her life was like, before/after the holocaust.

Fortunately, I found the time to bond with her during Thanksgiving this past year. For roughly an hour I picked her brain about what it was like growing up in Poland. Where did you live? What did you do for fun? Grandma, at 92, was often the quiet one in the room, struggling to hear the on-going conversations, but she couldn’t have been more excited to share her life experiences with me.

She talked about working in the financial district in NYC, where I work now, some 50+ years ago as an immigrant who was just learning English. She even told me about the first, and only, time that she got drunk. Grandma made the classic mistake of not eating dinner before downing a few glasses of whiskey. Grandpa Daniel had a long night that night.

She told me about the town she was from, Lviv, and the street she grew up on, Sloneczna 35. I told her the next time I come to her apartment I am going to find her address on Google Maps and show her what her home looks like now.

After Thanksgiving I decided I would make it a point to keep in touch with her more often. I put a note in my calendar for every third Sunday: CALL GRANDMA.

I only had one opportunity to call Grandma before her health took a turn. As 2015 turned to 2016 Grandma Rose’s days weren’t revolving around my silly radio show anymore, they were revolving around hospital visits and alarm clocks telling her it was time to take her medication again. She fought and she fought and she fought, showing the same resiliency she showed throughout her life but eventually her daughters decided it was time to put Grandma in hospice care as we waited out her final days.

I never got the opportunity to show Grandma what Sloneczna 35 looks like in 2016.

The day my grandmother passed away I was at work. My Mom let me know that Grandma had less than 24 hours to live and that I should come home. I left work early and arrived at Grandma Rose’s apartment late afternoon. But I was too late. She passed about 15 minutes before I arrived. I didn’t have my opportunity to say goodbye but I didn’t need it.

Grandma Rose helped shape me into who I am today and I’m grateful for her love, her wisdom, and her strength, even when the odds were stacked against her. The calendar alert to call her every third Sunday will remain in my phone as a constant reminder to cherish the time I have with the loved ones around me, and to remember her strength and everything she taught me.

Thank you for everything, Grandma Rose.

Rest in peace.