I’m usually not one to remember anniversaries of specific events.  There are dates which, out of necessity, I do remember.  Peg’s birthday, our wedding anniversary, the kids birthdays they’re all pretty much burned into my brain.  But they’re ingrained into my psyche because, well, Peg would kill me if I forgot. (Although she did forget that the 31st was Erin and Tom’s wedding  anniversary!).  All of that being said, this week is the 35th anniversary of my departure for pilot training.

My brother Tim and I loaded all of my worldly possessions into the trunk of my 1966 Studebaker and started the long drive to Del Rio, TX.  Three days  in July in an un-air-conditioned car through West Virginia, Virginia, Tennessee,  Arkansas, and Texas.  Good times!  But more on that next week.  My grandmothers name was Mabel.

Mabel is one of those names that fell out of popularity about 2 days after someone thought of it.  I haven’t checked the “popularity of names” website but I’m pretty sure you won’t find Mabel in the top 100, or even 250 most common names.  None of us have even considered giving it to our children or grandchildren as a middle name.  Maybe it’s because it rhymes with so many words and we don’t want our kids to be taunted by bullies or maybe it’s just one of those names that are just too old-timey, like Henrietta. (I had an aunt Henrietta, we called her aunt Hank).  I think I’m totally off track so let’s get back to it.

My grandmother lived in the little house next door to my parents.  She suffered from a heart condition brought on by childhood rheumatic fever so, as I was growing up, she suffered a series of heart attacks and would move in with us after each one while she regained her strength.   She still wanted to be independent, so once she was well enough, she would move back to her house.  But eventually she needed to be closer, so my parents moved her in next door.  Close, but not too close.

She was the kind of person to take the opposite side of any discussion.  We never knew if she really disagreed based on reason and facts or if she just didn’t liked to agree.  She was also a great fan of horror movies.  Frankenstein, Dracula, the creature from the black lagoon, the scarier the better.  When we were little we would all take turns going to grandma’s house for the weekend.  She always had the breakfast cereals our mother wouldn’t buy and she would let us do anything.  The quintessential grandparent.  But the price we had to pay was taking part in her horror film addiction.  She would drag us down to the old Garden theater on the Northside to see all of the old horror classics. (It later became the kind of theater you wouldn’t ever take your kids!)  We would stay up with her late into the night watching “Chiller Theater” on TV.  Probably not the best activity for a seven year old.  It might explain why the only dreams I remember are nightmares and why none of my siblings are great fans of horror films.

The night before we left for Texas, grandma called us over to say goodbye and give us a box of brownies for the trip.  Brownies were sort of a tradition for her and we could certainly use the sugar to get us through the first day.  As we climbed into the car early the next morning,  we saw the window blind go up in her bedroom and she waved goodbye.  That was the last time I saw her.  Two months later she passed away.  I had just started T-37 training and, after being warned that any interruption in training might result in being washed out, I was afraid to go home for her funeral.  A decision I regret to this day.

We don’t really know when we’ll see someone for the last time.  I think it’s human nature to assume things will stay the same, that family and friends will always be there.  But there are no guarantees.  Life is too short.  Treasure every moment with those you love.  Make sure your last word is a kind word.  Savor the brownies.  But don’t name your kid Mabel.