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When I was young child, I felt sorry for the kids who had two "Grandmas". How confusing it must be, to have the same name for two different people, always having to throw on a modifier to clarify who you were talking about. I took smug pride in my possession of an "Oma", obviously the superior arrangement- just as German was obviously the superior ancestry.
Oma and I got along brilliantly when I was small: she taught me about important things like proper silverware etiquette, the best kind of bread to feed ducks, and how to behave in a sauna. She would spend hours cooking and baking with me, or watching the dramatic performances I dragged my little brother into, or swimming with me in pools and lakes. She would blow bubbles for me to chase, and we were special friends. Our relationship was a simple one, and easy. We loved one another.
As I got older, and began the transition into adulthood, it became apparent that I had a lot in common with Oma- and that commonality lead to, shall we say, friction. Both of us smart, both of us strong-willed, both of us so certain we were right. I struggled between wanting so badly for her to be proud of me, and not wanting to care at all what she thought. She would bait me, and I would overreact. Our relationship was a complex one, and not easy. We loved one another.
I got older still, undeniably a woman by anyone's measure. I brought Nathan into the family and I swear- I swear that was the best thing I ever did for my relationship with Oma. She adored him, and her adoration of him made her think better of my decision-making abilities. And I was more confident in my self and my life choices, less likely to take offense where none was intended, and more able to laugh things off. Our relationship became mature, and good. We loved one another.
And then, almost four years ago, I had my son, TLG. Oma was getting older, more physically fragile- she couldn't play with her youngest great-grandson in the garden as she had with me, but she could- and did- admire him as he wore her own son's handed-down lederhosen; could give him little cars to play with; could blow bubbles for him to chase. Their relationship was a simple one, and easy. They loved one another- and it enriched my love for her. I think seeing me as a mother enriched her love for me, as well. Our mutual respect deepened, and we were proud to be called similar.
The last time I saw Oma, she was in a garden, surrounded by people she loved, and who loved her. TLG was using Opa's cane as a wizard's staff, magically "turning" us into various animals. Opa became an elephant, Nathan a newt- but then TLG turned to Oma (better known to him as Ur-Uma), and said, "Poof! You're a lion!" and she smiled and laughed, tired from her recent medical ordeals, but delighted by his choice.
A lion, I thought. How appropriate. Not just because she was born under the sign of Leo, but because she was strong and fierce like a lioness, protecting and providing for her family, her pride. Queen of her surroundings by sheer force of will- and the ability to roar when necessary.
She is gone now, which adds some complexity back into our relationship, but the love remains as strong as ever.
As does the pride.
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