rosemarieeulogy

[rosemarieeulogy]

Eulogy for Rose Marie

What is a grandmother? Your father’s mother or your mother’s mother, right? Someone who gave life to your parent and raised them. You may see your grandmother during the holidays and talk to her every once in a while; you may receive birthday cards from her every year filled with money. She may have fed you sweets behind your parents’ back, or gotten you a gift you really wanted when you didn’t deserve it.

See, that’s what my grandmother was to me. But she was also so much more. My gram, Rose Marie Houser, was not just a grandma to me, but she was my best friend.

Rose Marie Manley was born March 31st, 1930 in Bristol, Pennsylvania and was the oldest of five kids. Most of her youth was spent raising her siblings while her parents worked. Her youth was not an easy one. She had to grow up fast and become a mother figure at a very young age. It made her strong, independent, and a great role model for her siblings. Fortunately for her, she enjoyed that role. That joy and love for taking care of children continued on until her adulthood, making her long for her own family one day.

That dream came true when she met Noel William Houser at a local factory they both worked at. They began dating and eventually married. They then packed up and moved to Los Angeles and Rose became pregnant with my mother, Grace. After Grace came Matt, and then Jen and Lorraine - the twins.

Gram was finally a mother and a damn good one she was. Gram loved her kids and cherished them unconditionally. She was a mama bear and she always stuck up for them. She cooked and cleaned and always made sure her kids were happy. Gram and Grandpa took them on cross country trips to see national landmarks. She supported them through school, college, hobbies, etc. My mom always told me that Gram said children need three things in life: pets, religion, and music. Did she give them that? You bet she did.

Of course, there was hard times, but the Houser family always pulled through. My mom then grew up to be her own woman. She married my dad and then had me.

And guess who was right there for my birth? Gram. She was there right in the room for all of her grandchildren’s births. She loved her six grandkids and was an amazing grandmother to all of us. But for me, she was my third parent. Gram took care of me solely for about the first four years of my life. My mom and dad worked full time, so she was right there, guiding me through life, making me feel loved every step of the way.  She lived right across the street from us, so she was only a couple feet away. We would bake cookies and cupcakes. She’d get me ice cream from the ice cream man. We’d play Candyland, watch Blue’s Clues and Little Bear. She’d read me books and let me color in them. Those were some of the best times of my life: just me and Gram in her little home in Inglewood.

I eventually started school and my parents and I moved an hour away so I began seeing Gram less. But that did not stop my relationship with her. I had formed an unbreakable bond with her. I loved her so much. When we would visit her, I was so happy to see her beautiful face. I was so thrilled to hear her voice and all of the sassy and funny things she had to say.

I could see myself in her in so many ways. I could see all of my family members in her. She was the matriarch of the family— she was the core.

When Gram began getting older, I made it a habit to call her everyday. She would spend days alone in her house and I would worry about her. Some days, our conversations would be long and some days, they were short. But I always made sure I called her. On the days I’d forget, I’d feel terrible, but life would get in the way. I would always tell her I’m sorry that I forgot to call and she’d say, “Yeah, Miranda, I was wondering where your call was.” I know she was just joking and she didn’t really mind, but still… I felt bad.

That’s the thing about Gram— her mind was sharp, her memory was almost eidetic. She remembered everything and almost everyone. Her memory, amongst many other things, was one of her best qualities. She would remember dates, times, years, and conversations; people from her past who had instilled positive and negative memories in her. So, if you forgot to call her, she would remember.

There wasn’t really anyone quite like Rose Marie. She was unique, a character, a deep soul, but with a youthful heart. She was a foodie, like me, and enjoyed a nice pastry or meal. She always knew about the latest celebrity gossip and would discuss it with me. She was mordant, blunt, and comical; she made the whole room laugh with just one word. But sometimes, she would sit quietly in her chair and look out the window. You’d wonder what was going on behind those light brown eyes she had; the things she had seen, the places she had been, all of the experiences she had had throughout her life. I mean, she had been alive for almost nine decades and had watched people grow into adults. Not only that, but she raised most of those people.

She was the most influential person to me. I always tried to make that known to her— how important she truly was. I made sure to always tell her I loved her when I’d talk to her on the phone or when I’d see in her person. She knew how loved and respected she truly was.

Life is not the same without her. I am still adjusting to it everyday. I miss her voice and her witty comments. I miss her cute little blouses and sneakers she wore everyday. Her TV shows and apple fritters. How particular she was about certain things in her home. That orange she had at breakfast along with her pills. Her crossword puzzles and her iPad. How she’d put on her glasses that hung from her neck to read something. I miss everything about her honestly. I could stand here all day, talking about how much I love her and miss her, but she’d say, “Oh, Miranda. I’m fine, don’t worry. Go enjoy your life and we’ll see each other someday.”

Okay, Gram, I won’t worry. Just save some peanut m&ms for me, okay? We’ll cook that big pasta meal as soon as I get there. I love you.