My Paternal Grandmother & Me
A Very Precious Moment

(Photo "borrowed" from Mom's COLE Photo Album)

    I grew up knowing my maternal grandmother well.  We did not have a good relationship.  When she died, my only regret was that I was unable to mourn her passing.

    My paternal grandmother died when I was 3.  I never knew her.   She never had the opportunity to see me.  For 48 years, I never even gave it a second thought.  For two of those 48 years, I had been working with Mom on our genealogy.  I worked with her name and the events in her life (born, married, died, etc) often.  I never even though about it.  I read her memoirs, Ilistened to Dad's stories of her.  I never thought about it.  I drew the family tree with her in it, I had her photo on my livingroom wall.   I never thought.  I never felt.  She meant no more to me as a person than did James Cole, her ggggggg (7 greats) grandfather.

    Then, one day late last year (1999), I was looking at one of my photo albums.  And suddenly and literally, everything connected.  This wasn't just a name with events, dates, & places.  It wasn't just a photo of a long dead ancestor whom I never knew.  This was my "other" GRANDMOTHER.  Dad's Mom.  According to the few stories Dad has shared, she was a very loving, giving, sharing woman.  She would have been a "real" grandmother.

    For the first time in my life, I experienced her loss.  And I was overcome with mourning.  I sat there for several minutes, crying.  It hurt so badly.  It's hard to explain, but in a way, it was as though she had just died for me.

    And the realization that even now, I am able to mourn her loss, when I never even knew her, yet have never been able to mourn the loss of Mom's Mom hurts even more.

    I realize that I'm not the only person who never had a "real" grandmother.  But that doesn't diminish my loss.  Nor should my telling of my loss diminish yours.