When I was around eight years old, I used to get a little annoyed at constantly hearing how beautiful my grandmother was. We've got a lot of attractive women in our family so I thought, Why does it matter? I wondered why she couldn't be like my friends' grandmothers who were obsessed with making cookies for them or being domestic. My grandmother was regal and dignified. She was also of a different era...
The thing is though my grandmother, my dad's mother, was exceptionally beautiful. It is my deepest regret that I did not run up to her and kiss her, love her and just hang out with her more and tell her how wonderful she was. She was very loving to me. She had a regal beauty. When I was eight, she was eighty years old but she looked like she was sixty at most. Her face was so perfect and her skin so smooth, fair, white and free of any wrinkles or blemishes. It was a perfect complexion and she had a glow about her. I always loved her eyes. They were light hazel brown but they looked so warm when she looked at you. Her smile though was stunning. It kind of stopped you in your tracks, especially if you hadn't seen her in a while or you were meeting her for the first time. I saw countless people stop and stare. She had perfect teeth and pink gums like many people do, but it was her smile that drew you in. She smiled widely and it was warm, welcoming and genuine.
The closest thing I can think of is like the autumn sunlight in Vermont in September the last few years lately where it just bathes you in a soft light. It's lovely and lights you up. You basked in her smile. You wanted more. :)
My grandmother sent me many gifts. She wrote me long letters way before I could read them fully. My dad also wrote me letters by hand, especially when he went on long trips to San Francisco. My brother would read them to me.
It was hard for my grandmother to write as years passed. She had arthritis and it went into her hands. A few of her slender, beautiful fingers became gnarled and you could see the blue and slightly red veins everywhere. She was embarrassed by it and looked so helpless at me sometimes when she had to use a walker. I imagine that was very difficult but she did it with dignity and she always smiled so brilliantly at everyone.
She could not bear it when my father died. He was her only son. She would tear up instantly at the mention of his name or even places he had been. Every time she would see my brother or me, her eyes would fill with tears and she would smile at us, open her arms and invite us to come and hug her, but there was such a sadness in her soft frame.
She gave me so many books to read over the years and plenty of beautiful, delicate soft purses, lots of cash to spend on anything I wanted, lovely jewelry, leather clutches and many things. She never said a harsh word to anyone. She was softness, beauty and majesty all rolled into one.
I regret very much not spending more time with her and not understanding better. I feel bad that I did not tell her how much I loved her. I miss her smile, her warmth and her gentle eyes. I miss her looking thoughtful and the friendliness she offered immediately to someone new like a happy child every single time without hesitation. When I think of her, I feel a warmth inside me like I am being hugged and I feel like I am loved so very much and part of a long line that is eternal and forever good.
I would gladly drop whatever I was doing today to spend time with her and just tell her how wonderful she was. She was also the kind of person that forgave you instantly and loved you completely.
My grandmother taught me what true beauty is, from the inside out.