Believe

This is not going to be easy.

In fact, I have been putting it off for as long as possible. The truth is that she was my constant, my biggest supporter of all the writing/dithering’s I would churn out randomly, so she absolutely deserves the accolades and devotion.

It’s just that I knew this was going to make me cry.

It’s worth it. You are worth all the happy tears and warm feelings in the world, Grandma. And I know you will read this in whatever universe you are currently exploring right now.

Born in 1936 in San Dimas, California. My grandmother, Dianne Dedrick, was a first generation Los Angeleno, before the start of our absolutely huge, crazy family. She hated math, struggled with her parents like a typical teen, and was a big fan of anything artistic and musical. She went to concerts in Los Angeles and Pasadena. She actually saw Benny Goodman live (and took me to see Phantom of the Opera in 1989-Michael Crawford’s last show) and really, I can only imagine how sassy and mouthy she was as a teenager.

Honestly the story I’m most familiar with is through my own lens, as her first grandchild.

My grandmother is locked into my core memories as a toddler. She was such a presence, such a force. She took me to visit my mother in the hospital when my sister was born in 1979 and this where I turned out the completely devastated, infamous, dramatic phrase that I had “tears all over my lollipop” as I tried in vain to accept that I was not the only child anymore. I actually remember sitting in my grandma’s car and trying to get my collective, almost four year old shit together. My grandmother must have been absolutely dying inside, at the completely over the top, sad state of affairs her extremely curly haired, frowny-faced, first granddaughter was displaying.

My sister and I grew up in her pool in Glendora, a suburb between Azusa and San Dimas. This must be the quintessential Southern California childhood experience in the 60’s through the 90’s- growing up poolside with brown, smoggy skies. I was more cautious of her pool than my grandfathers, because I think it was deep as hell and not as shallow. My uncles used to jump off the roof of the house into that pool, so it must have been over 12 feet deep.

Throughout high school back near the beach, all my band/orchestra gigs, any sort of family celebration in Torrance, my grandmother was there. When my immediate family moved to Northern California, to meet up with the rest of the mass exodus of southern Californians going north- my grandmother was there. When we started watching hockey games, when my brother was in little league, when any of us needed to have someone around, or needed a ride-grandma was there. This was when GOOD hockey was on tv. The Red Wings had Steve Yzerman and Brendan Shanahan, Colorado had Patrick Roy and Joe Sakic. We were glued to the TV, watching these hockey games and fixated on San Jose. With Owen Nolan, Patrick Marlowe, Mike Ricci. Grandma was there.

And the end of my parents marriage? Grandma was there. In full force with support, and in general acting like a total bad ass. We knew we would get through it all, with grandma being around and helping mom. Grandma was our constant, back-up parent, completely reliable and funny as hell.

When my family moved to Canada, and I was still in Sacramento- our roles would reverse from time to time. Grandma was always there, but so was Sarah. We would drive each other to doctors appointments, have our Starbucks coffee chats, have our Panda Express lunches. She loved to read, and we would often pass books back and forth and have long, involved book chats about characters, plot and what else we had on deck for the next read. She would take me to Costco, bring me food, and listen to me bitch about whatever work/relationship drama I was going through. She always had a running commentary of snark in most situations, and I would usually gravitate towards her for family events FOR this reason. Grandma did not take any shit, had NO filter and I freaking loved it.

I had tried, in vain, to have a relationship with my fathers mother in Spokane, WA. I was mostly ignored, and then finally “chastised” when we made contact for not trying hard enough. After the second round of being made to feel inferior that I would never meet my extremely narcissistic grandmothers needs, I told real Grandma that SHE was the grandma “who rocked” and the only one I needed in my life.

She loved my turn of phrase, and would often sign her emails to me as “the grandma who rocks”. I shortened it to “Gma” and she rolled with it to the end. The “Gma who rocks”.

Gma met so many friends of mine, a few really close people in my life. She was quite the hugger, just so open and accepting of everything and everyone. I knew that I could drop anything in her lap and that she would have some sort of solution, some different perspective to tackle. I missed my mom so badly when I stayed in Sacramento, but having this other version meant so much to me, and saw me through a lot of hard times. Grandma was always there.

I’m the oldest of like 23 or 24 grandkids? I lose count when I start trying to count cousins, and get even more lost with my cousins children. I feel like a useless methuselah on top of some sort of chain of genetics. But she knew, she kept count, and she knew how unbelievably epic it was to have such a winding, vine of a legacy. Grandma had her fingers in multiple pies over both southern and northern California. Not many can make that claim.

Our last texts to each other will have a lasting, positive impact on me and really helped my mental health post surgery. I was lying in the hospital bed, writhing in agony with gas pains pushing at the surgical wounds, trying to move around in bed, or around the room with my IV. Gma is texting me all sorts of good wishes, and how much she is thinking about what I’m experiencing. What I’m going through, with this terrible, betrayal of a reproductive system, and how much she is cheering for me, and my journey to the pain-free other side of the rainbow. I thanked her for being a member of “Team Sarah” and she replied RIGHT back with “Damn right I’m a member! My very first grandchild”.

So I hold that honor closely. Towards the end, when she was fading from the advanced pancreatic cancer – all I would get was purple hearts in response to texts. Of course, those hold more meaning now, than I realized at the time.

Now there’s this weird, sad hole in my life. My last experience with death was completely different, so much anger, shock and feeling sick. While I don’t want to say this is a positive experience, it’s less empty and scary. My heart is just so full. This round, there are so many good memories and so much love for my grandmother, that it’s helped me bask in this glow, this light of her legacy. I’m proud of how loved she was, and all the warmth and affection this woman radiated to everyone in her life. I’m proud to be her first granddaughter, and I’m even more proud that I absolutely inherited the no filter gene, along with the inability to hide what I’m thinking.

Look, you know where you stand with us. You’ll thank us later.

A few years ago, my grandmother had told everyone that her catchphrase had always been “believe”. A few of us do not remember it ever being a catchphrase, so to speak, but she had letters that spelled out “believe” in her little apartment (I think over or on the TV?) and I liked associating the word with her, so this was just a happy little thing to think about. Not sure how I feel now with the reality of having no choice; all we have left is the ability to believe. Nevertheless, I’ll take what we are handed with these weird, extremely sad, end of an era milestones. I’ll keep on believing.

Gma who rocks, I miss you so, so much. I’ll keep you alive in spirit and memory on this side of the country. I’ll see you in the soft colors of hydrangeas, the smell of coffee, the old videos of Patrick Roy talking to his goalposts, and any sort of sharp, sarcastic quip that maybe should have not been said aloud. I promise I will only think of you with a smile, even through a shine of tears. You were always there, and you will always be here in my heart.

Love,
Your Sarie Sue



*The first picture is the only picture she ever liked of herself, taken in what looks like the early 1950’s. The one below is of her in 2022.