The eulogy I delivered for my Grandma yesterday:

I went to see Grandma at the nursing home for the last time about a week and a half ago, right before leaving for Chicago. I’m glad that I went then, and I think some part of me knew that when I left I was saying goodbye—and I love you—for the last time. But the woman I left that day was not Grandma, not the Grandma I vividly remember when I close my eyes. We lost that Grandma two years ago when she had her stroke, but it’s only now that I’ve finally been able to properly mourn her.

The Grandma I remember was one of the most vibrant, intelligent and loving people I’ve ever known. She may not have always been happy, and she certainly faced her share of hardships, but Grandma had an amazing indomitable spirit that always shined brightly in her eyes, and I admired and loved her deeply for it.

In many ways, Grandma is the relative I am most like, perhaps as much by conscious effort on my part as by genes alone. Grandma was an early inspiration for me that women could and should work outside the home. I may have never seen her in the workplace, but I knew how important nursing and working more generally were to her, and you didn’t need to be around Grandma for long to realize what a natural leader she was!

Grandma also introduced me to a love of music. One of my very favorite memories of Grandma was of her singing “A You’re Adorable” with me when I got my first Fisher Price tape recorder. A smile still comes to my face instantly when I hear that song, or when I hear “You say tomato, I say tomato…” I’m quite sure that watching Grandma perform in Sweet Adelines was hugely inspirational in my own forays into show choir and high school musicals. I’m not alone in these musical memories. In discussing with the cousins, everyone seems to have favorite songs they sang with Grandma, whether Raffi’s “Baby Beluga” or something from the Wee Sing tapes.

But I think it’s in the more subtle ways that Grandma’s influence on my life can really be seen. Growing up in the early 80s, it seemed that women could be either soft and domestic or hard and successful in the business world. But Grandma showed me that women could be intelligent, outspoken leaders but still emotional and certainly still domestic. Whether shouting out the answers while watching Jeopardy or arguing politics, Grandma was never one to fade into the background or to leave the serious stuff to the men. It’s safe to describe her as a formidable presence in our lives. Certainly her stories of her own childhood always taught me that girls should excel in the classroom and on the playing field.

And yet Grandma was emotional and loving as well. Certainly, her fierce love of her family was always evident. I think some part of her would have preferred to be able to stop herself from crying when she was upset or hurt, but I for one am glad that I had the example of the strong woman who was still human.

Grandma’s love for her family could also be seen in how happy she was to babysit the grandchildren. Although we don’t remember, Mom insists that Grandma used to crawl around under a dining room table with Brian and me pretending to camp. I certainly remember the time that Grandma was babysitting me and took me out to dinner at McDonald’s, only to realize that she had forgotten to bring her wallet. And one of Becky’s fondest memories was of sitting on Grandma’s beach chair, eating lunch and watching Sesame Street. I hope that we have inherited Grandma’s love of family and eagerness to do for others in a way Grandma would approve.

I’m afraid I also picked up Grandma’s perfectionism. Just ask the kids at school who used to call me Perfect Pollock! Whenever I serve banana bread—baked according to Grandma’s own recipe (which she insisted remain a family secret), I have to preface it by pointing out its imperfections, an unconscious mimicking of Grandma. I’m not sure that she ever served a meal or made a craft project that lived up to her own impossibly high standards. And while the rest of us may not have noticed the flaws, Grandma always pointed them out.

I love Grandma, and I miss her enormously. There’s a part of me that can’t quite believe that I’ll never again be able to discuss a mystery novel with her, and that she won’t be there to see her grandchildren get married and have kids, if we ever do. (Grandma’s been telling us for ten years now that all of her friends have great-grandchildren. There’s a part of me that will always feel guilty for not providing her with those great-grandchildren of her own during her lifetime!)

I am relived that Grandma is no longer suffering. The knowledge of the pain—emotional and physical—that she must have been in has weighed heavily on me in recent years. But now that she is physically gone, the full impact of losing her has finally set in. I would not be the person I am today without having had Grandma in my life, and I hope that some part of who she was will live on in me and in all her grandchildren.