My wonderful grandmother passed away on Saturday, June 13. I went back to Baltimore last week to spend time with my family and to say goodbye to one of my favorite people in the world.
Above is a picture of Megan with Bubby when Megan was eight months old and Bubby was 93. Although Megan was hard to keep still at that age (still is, actually), she stayed totally still while Bubby held her. Amazing.
I chose not to speak at the funeral, because my mom, sister and cousin were already speaking, but below is a draft of what I wrote.
It is such an honor to stand before you today, as we remember Bessie Winer Salkin. Bess to many, Mom to a few, but to many of us, she was our Bubby.
In talking to members of my family, there is one prevailing thought: that while it is best for her to be at peace, we can’t imagine life without Bubby. And that somehow, 94 years just wasn’t enough for any of us.
When my daughter Megan was born, Bubby was 92. I knew I couldn’t name our daughter for her because she was still here on earth, but I wanted to do something to honor all she has given to my life. So Megan’s middle name is Salkin. So whenever I say my daughter’s full name, I am reminded of my grandmother’s strength, beauty and grace. And class. She had a lot of class.
I always tell people that Bubby helped raise Nancy and me, and it is certainly true. So many of my day-to-day childhood memories feature Bubby: Rocking me in the rocking chair in my bedroom, driving me home from nursery school down Park Heights Avenue and begging me not to fall asleep on the ride home so she could put me down for a nap; her big Oldsmobile with the square pillow and the crocheted cover; making babka in her kitchen; playing checkers on the big carpeted game board; Hanukkah parties; lots of sleepovers at her apartment. The smell of her skin and the softness of her hands. I’ve never felt softer hands. Never.
And the food! Babka, gefilte fish, challah, knishes, chicken soup. The kitchen was truly her safe haven. And I can’t watch Megan eating a raspberry without thinking of Bubby.
And then there were the Bubbyisms. I remember visiting with her when I was going through my divorce almost 12 years ago. She told me, “Sometimes you step in a pile of dog doo. You just wipe off your shoes and keep walking.” There are a few Bubbyisms that she taught me in Yiddish—unfortunately, I don’t quite think this is the time to repeat them! And how many of us can get in and out of a public restroom without touching a single thing? Yet another lesson from Bubby.
Three weeks ago, Bubby got to see her tenth great grandchild—the first boy, by the way—the other nine are all girls—when we Skyped with her two weeks ago. I held up five-month-old Michael and he stared at Bubby at the other end. And she was staring eight back—they were really taking each other in. My 22-month-old daughter pointed at the screen and said, “Bubby!” and they blew kisses at each other. The memory of the two of them blowing kisses is permanently etched in my brain.
Bubby loved people and people loved her. She was a real class act. Ask her what she thought and she’d tell you, even if you didn’t ask. But it was all done with lots and lots of love.
For her 90th birthday, the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren wrote notes and drew pictures, and my mom, Frayda, compiled them into a book for her. What I wrote then seems appropriate to say now: Bubby, you are a fabulous, wonderful, giving, loving, smart, sassy, gutsy woman, and I truly believe my life is richer and stronger for having you in it.
And Megan loves the Stevie Nicks/Tom Petty song, "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around." I remembered that I had a version of it on the DVR and played it for her. She's now requesting it regularly.
Megan continues to learn new words daily. The other night, P.C. was coming home early and I said to Megan, "Daddy's coming home early. How 'bout that?" and she said, "How 'bout that?" as clear as a bell.