#tory writes

This Christmas was going to be a strange one with COVID still being rampant but more easy to detect, prevent, and be aware of. But at least it was one where my family could gather again (I still took an at-home COVID test this morning; one of my greatest fears besides getting the disease itself is passing it on to people I care about). But this Christmas was always going to be difficult as well. My cat and our family cat for 18 years both died within two months of each other, and more than that, my grandmother died in July from complications from a fall. Her health deteriorated in the span of just over a week and she died on my brother’s birthday. What was supposed to be a visit with her as she rested at home quickly turned into a last goodbye and, within that same hour, I was around to see her last breath. So with Christmas at my grandparents’ house with just my grandfather there for the first time in myself and most of my family’s lives... it was going to be tough. Before this, my first grandparent-- my other grandfather-- passed away in 2017, and he was our resident photog. He loved his disposable cameras, pure film, and doing candid shots. Something about us acting natural appealed to him, I suppose. But when he passed, I realized just how few pictures of he and I there were, and ever since then, I have become obsessed with taking pictures of my family during special occasions. Neither side of my family has ever been big on picture-taking and I already have trouble remembering things, so it seemed natural to take on this task that, well, no one really asked of me.  So when my grandmother died this year-- my Grammy-- I became the one to look to for modern-day photos of her for her memorial service. And while looking through pictures, I came across two short videos I’d taken. I don’t really know what compelled me to cross the threshold from photo to video, but I know what prompted me to want to hold onto the memory. It was Christmas 2018, and my family (parents, extended, grandparents) were all gathered playing a trivia card game. My mom is big on trying new fun games to play on the holidays, if not the go-to of Pokeno. And during this game, my grandparents were bantering. My Grammy was a master at bantering and my grandfather-- Grampy-- I think really found the back and forth endearing. He would laugh at what she’d say or make a comment my Grammy would deem as “fresh,” or try to reason with her by calling her his nickname for her, Butch. They were a perfect balance of one another, and I always loved their conversations. That’s what made me take the videos. Short ones because they were candids. Regretfully I ended up missing taking videos of their banter, but it was still her interacting with the family and being her happy self, my Grampy laughing along off to the side. It was her voice, her cadence, her true authentic self. And, as far as my mother could tell me, I now held the only video of her from within the last 20 years. I knew this had to be something I had to share with my Grampy. I was even more reassured of this when, just last week, he told my mother, “You know... no matter how hard I try, I just can’t remember her voice anymore.” And I could tell this really ate at him. How sad would it be to forget the voice of the person you were married to for nearly 60 years after just 5 months? Since my videos were ones I took on my phone, I wanted my Grampy to have a tangible way to remember my Grammy, and not just by sending video files to him. So I bought a digital photo frame that also played videos with audio (very hard to find ones that play audio, believe it or not!), put those videos on a SIM card in case he ever wanted to add to it, tested it-- there she was. Visually there, smaller than when my own eyes had seen her that day in 2018, but bigger than a cell phone screen. Even though I’d seen those videos a dozen times since her death, it made me emotional seeing her in a more enhanced way. Today, we gathered for Christmas at my Grampy’s (I still can’t help but call it “my grandparents’ house). We did presents, but I waited until the end so the room would be a little calmer, when less eyes would be on him. I can’t describe how nervous I was. Though I know he missed her dearly, he didn’t like talking about her at length much these days, and I didn’t want to catch him off-guard. So, present in hand, I kneeled next to his recliner chair and said “This is from me. It has to do with Grammy, so if you want to wait until later to open it, that’s fine.” I think that compelled him to open it, saying that. I think he knew she would come up in some capacity this Christmas anyway. He opened up to the photo frame box, and I explained to him that I had somethings loaded on it already. After getting the packaging off of the frame, I plugged it in and went to the video function. This frame shows a preview of the video in a thumbnail, so I went to the “view” function as quick as I could. For some reason, I just didn’t want the first time he saw this to be in any way but the full resolution of the frame.  The video played immediately, and they play on a loop. For anything else, two videos that make up less than a minute total would be annoying. But it was certainly anything but to my Grampy. He first saw the video before hearing much of anything, but upon seeing it asked when I took the video. We watched a bit more together and I turned around to see his face absolutely crumble. It is a face that will stay with me forever. His eyes immediately got teary, which made me teary, as he watched the videos a few more times on rotation, body, and thereby hands, getting shaky with muffled sobs as he held the frame. He is always has such composure, something about seeing him change so quickly took me by surprise, but made me realize that this meant something deep to him. I told him I heard he wanted to hear Grammy’s voice again and I wanted to give it to him. Miraculously neither of us cry, but we are both teetering. His voice is wavering, and the moment is so overwhelming I don’t remember verbatim what he said, but it was along the lines of “Thank you so much hon, this is just wonderful” and we hugged the most emotional hug ever. The day continued on. He regained his composure ridiculously well, but he’s sort of been this way from the day after my Grammy died. Christmas was a new kind of familiar, we played a new usual trivia game. My Grampy laughed and had a brilliant smile that is honestly hard to get on film but lovely to see in person. I took my usual candids for posterity. As we were saying goodbye when night drew near, I had to get going and went to him saying “Merry Christmas”. He looked at me fondly and said “Tory, I can’t thank you enough for that picture frame.” He pulled me in for a hug. “Absolutely wonderful,” he said as he hugged me in a hug that felt more meaningful than usual.  I am currently trying not to cry as I write this. There’s a really heavy, indescribable feeling about being able to give someone something they thought they’d never get back, and something additionally about acknowledging the missing presence in the room after having to kind of tip-toe around it. Nothing meant more that night than making sure my Grampy had a way to remember not just my Grammy, but that memory. An innocuous one of a tiny snippet of a silly holiday game. But with my Grampy I know it will be cherished, as I have since finding it. It also made me reflect on this year’s loses and all of the changes that really do affect me when I take time to reflect on them. So this Christmas was a new normal, not just because of COVID, but because of the time it took, and sometimes the people it took. I miss my Grammy dearly, but not as much as my Grampy does, not that I’m trying to measure grief. But my Grampy lives in his house by himself, without a person he shared it with for the majority of his life. And maybe, just maybe, hearing my Grammy’s voice and seeing her naturally whenever he wants to will help my Grampy feel less lonely. I hope that, anyway. He deserves it.