Pauline May

My grandmother Pauline passed away when I was a young girl. I absolutely loved her and have the best, sweetest memories of her.  Love trascends life and death. I remember going to my grandparents house and being so excited. My grandmother would bring upstairs to her bedroom and take out her Madame Alexander dolls. Each one had a different story. They were beautiful and delicate and had those cute Bambi eyes with those impossibly long eyelashes. Each doll had an intricate costume on made out of the finest silk and tulle. My grandmother would show me The Grandma Moses one, The Lucille Ball one, and it continued on and on. She had so many!! I was fascinated by the dolls and the stories behind each one. Each doll was based off a real person or a character in a book. She opened a whole beautiful, colorful world of womens' stories I never heard. Each and every time I came over we had this routine.

She was fair-skinned like me and called me rosebud. I had big lips for a little girl and her nickname soothed any insecurity I had about it.  She was feminine and lovely and soft and sweet. 

Then one day my parents, brother Paul and I went over there. I begged my grandmother to take me show her dolls and tell me stories. My mom told me she wasn't feeling well and "not today". Soon, we were visiting her in the hospital. She had a stroke. My mom would end up telling me she had bought me a doll house and was so excited for me to open it, she kept talking about it even after her stroke. She passed only a few days after her stroke. 

My grandfather came to live with me, my dad, my brother and I. He slept there once and the next morning he confided in my mom he had a dream that Pauline (my grandmother) was an angel with her arms stretched open for him. The next morning they found him. He passed in his sleep. 

People coming for my grandmother's wake were not only turned away but were told the news that my grandfather died too. It was only a couple days before Christmas. I saw my parents' light fade around that time. They were somber. I drew pictures at school of all of us - including my grandparents. I understood but not really. That Christmas was very solemn. My parents did the absolute best to march on in the face of sudden tragedy.

I still have memories of my grandparents. I still remember those days sitting next to my grandmother Pauline looking at dolls and listening to her. I have many pictures of them but only one of me and her. It was put in a glass case heart frame after she passed. I moved a lot as a kid, and one of those times the picture dropped and the glass cracked. The picture was glued on, so to remove the picture it would tear it apart. I kept the picture in my broken heart frame. After all, it is with a broken heart I think of her. But, I also think of her in a wonderful way too.

My glass vanity desk holds antique perfume bottles, a fake golden and pale pink bouqet, a jewelry dish with cameos and that golden frame of me and my grandmother. She adds so much light and love and beauty to my room. Every time I step into my space (or as I recently called it "my babe cave") I am drawn to our photograph. A photogaph of her holding me.

I miss her and love her. But she's still part of me, part of my life. She's the most beautiful part of my favorite room. I'm sorry Grandma for breaking the glass part of the frame, but it's whats inside that means the most to me: a perfectly intact picture of you and I. It's surrounded by the prettiest, most feminine things I could find that I think you'd just love.

Here's to you my beloved grandmother Pauline. 

My grandmother Pauline passed away when I was a young girl. I absolutely loved her and have the best, sweetest memories of her.  Love trascends life and death. I remember going to my grandparents house and being so excited. My grandmother would bring upstairs to her bedroom and take out her Madame Alexander dolls. Each one had a different story. They were beautiful and delicate and had those cute Bambi eyes with those impossibly long eyelashes. Each doll had an intricate costume on made out of the finest silk and tulle. My grandmother would show me The Grandma Moses one, The Lucille Ball one, and it continued on and on. She had so many!! I was fascinated by the dolls and the stories behind each one. Each doll was based off a real person or a character in a book. She opened a whole beautiful, colorful world of womens' stories I never heard. Each and every time I came over we had this routine.

She was fair-skinned like me and called me rosebud. I had big lips for a little girl and her nickname soothed any insecurity I had about it.  She was feminine and lovely and soft and sweet. 

Then one day my parents, brother Paul and I went over there. I begged my grandmother to take me show her dolls and tell me stories. My mom told me she wasn't feeling well and "not today". Soon, we were visiting her in the hospital. She had a stroke. My mom would end up telling me she had bought me a doll house and was so excited for me to open it, she kept talking about it even after her stroke. She passed only a few days after her stroke. 

My grandfather came to live with me, my dad, my brother and I. He slept there once and the next morning he confided in my mom he had a dream that Pauline (my grandmother) was an angel with her arms stretched open for him. The next morning they found him. He passed in his sleep. 

People coming for my grandmother's wake were not only turned away but were told the news that my grandfather died too. It was only a couple days before Christmas. I saw my parents' light fade around that time. They were somber. I drew pictures at school of all of us - including my grandparents. I understood but not really. That Christmas was very solemn. My parents did the absolute best to march on in the face of sudden tragedy.

I still have memories of my grandparents. I still remember those days sitting next to my grandmother Pauline looking at dolls and listening to her. I have many pictures of them but only one of me and her. It was put in a glass case heart frame after she passed. I moved a lot as a kid, and one of those times the picture dropped and the glass cracked. The picture was glued on, so to remove the picture it would tear it apart. I kept the picture in my broken heart frame. After all, it is with a broken heart I think of her. But, I also think of her in a wonderful way too.

My glass vanity desk holds antique perfume bottles, a fake golden and pale pink bouqet, a jewelry dish with cameos and that golden frame of me and my grandmother. She adds so much light and love and beauty to my room. Every time I step into my space (or as I recently called it "my babe cave") I am drawn to our photograph. A photogaph of her holding me.

I miss her and love her. But she's still part of me, part of my life. She's the most beautiful part of my favorite room. I'm sorry Grandma for breaking the glass part of the frame, but it's whats inside that means the most to me: a perfectly intact picture of you and I. It's surrounded by the prettiest, most feminine things I could find that I think you'd just love.

Here's to you my beloved grandmother Pauline.