Letters from Grenada

Although I have no way of knowing for certain, in my heart I believe that bringing my grandmother to Grenada prolonged her life by a year or two.

For a long while we took her to the beach regularly. She’d sit at the edge of the ocean, rubbing the sand on her legs. My mom or I would carry her out deeper, where she’d get to feel literally buoyant.

“Now, don’t you drop me,” she’d say.

“I’ll only drop you if you want me to, old lady,” I’d say, and she’d laugh and laugh.

I took this photograph on Bean’s second birthday. We had a little party at Grand Anse beach. You see how my mother has her arm around Grandma? That’s because she was no longer strong enough to sit up by herself. It was one of the very last times we took her to the beach. The trip down the stairs and into the taxi had become simply too much for her.

I love this photograph because my son is naked, as he almost always was in Grenada, unless I forced him to put on clothes, which I rarely bothered to do. Nudity notwithstanding, he’s also guarding them, unwilling to move too far away from his two grandmothers, lest they need his assistance. (He was quite the skilled foot-lifter.)

I love this photograph because my mom is wearing that hideously gorgeous bathing suit she had custom made for her in Trinidad. She’s sixty years old here, but chilling on the beach with the insouciance of a teenager, unconcerned with what passersby may or may not think of her pale, ample thighs.

I love this photograph because Grandma is wearing her straw hat. Her “church hat”, she called it, because it made her feel “fancy”. She’s well past eighty, and smiling like a beauty queen as she digs her toes into the sand.

Minutes later, a storm came up and Bean’s father ran out, picked her up like a baby and carried her to her reclining chair under the flamboyant tree. I folded and arranged towels behind her back, getting her comfortable. As we sat and watched the rain she turned to me.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“I’m Maria, Grandma. Your oldest daughter’s oldest daughter.” I am unfazed by this question, because I’ve heard it many times before.

“Is that baby yours?”

“Yes. His name is Jack. He’s your great-grandson.”

“Oh. He looks like a good baby. I had eight of them you know.”

“Yes. I know.”

“We’re not in Indiana, are we?”

“No, Grandma. We’re most certainly not in Indiana.”

Then she said she was thirsty, so I got her juice out of the cooler and held the straw in her mouth while she drank, propping her up with my other arm so she wouldn’t choke. And like that, the two of us sat there, under a flamboyant tree, watching the rain.

(A Sense of Place)

Posted on January 16th, 2010 under Grenada • Tags: a sense of place, asop, caribbean, family, grand anse beach, grandma vera, Grenada, joaquin the illustrious bean, love, tumblr. •  Print This Post •  Email This Post • RSS 2.0 feed • Both comments and pings are currently closed