Grandma, Year Six

When I moved away from Green Bay in June 2018, it was for many reasons, and I didn’t envision living there ever again.  

I had been following my creative senses more closely, which made it more apparent how it needed to be my life. Also becoming more obvious was how stagnancy crept into my life and found residence. 

A big part of leaning into my creativity was realizing I needed more experiences that were different—there were too many things about the city that signaled a needed change for me.  

When I took nearly all of 2017 off of “regular” work, I took many opportunities to seek change. The first of which was given to me after months of email exchanges with PWTorch founder and publisher Wade Keller before I began writing for the Torch in February. It was one of the shifts of difference I needed and helped change my perspective for the better. I also traveled different places observed how different every city was to Green Bay. 

Soon after starting working a typical job in Appleton in December 2017 while still living in the Green Bay area, the various small town mindsets were beginning to seep back into me. 

With my newfound sense of avoiding complacency and needing a change of consistent environment, the move became a necessity. It was very hard no longer being a short drive to see your smiling face and turn down your blaring television so we could hear each other while spending time together.

Thankfully we could still talk on the phone; unfortunately though the conversations had to be shorter because your good arm’s rotator cuff was torn. My work schedule gave me a couple days off each week, and when I’d visit you I didn’t want to go anywhere else in town.

When I moved to Neenah, there was a lot I left behind. Inherently, I knew I needed to heal, though I didn’t realize its true gravity and urgency until physical separation gave me more clarity to begin truly sorting everything out without being consistently triggered. 

Soon after you passed, my time spent in Green Bay became less so I could continue my processing and healing. Soon after each time I came back from a rare Green Bay trip, it was clear how having a neutral place to live was helping.

Each time I came back to town could only be for something or someone that wouldn’t derail me from what I needed to work on. Sometimes I came back for a morning or afternoon drive around town to places that I had history to make sure I was on track and not losing focus.

To be in various situations of exposure therapy in Green Bay was very difficult but also quite necessary. Many tears were shed and many words were journaled in those days after I drove through the neighborhoods I lived in and went to school as I searched for clues and questions and answers and roots of issues that were persisting. 

In last year’s essay to you, I mentioned reconnecting with a friend from high school. Since then, we have become romantically involved. 

I wish you could have met her—she so beautiful and fantastic, and very good to me. I would love for you to be able to see it up close and how we are great for each other. She has a lot of gratitude to you for how you helped shape me, for how the love you gave me so early in my life was my example of knowing when something was real versus hoped and projected, which I also referenced in last year’s essay.

Very soon after moving back to Green Bay last year, I was smacked with a fact that didn’t cross my mind until something reminded me of you.  

When you were alive and I would hear sirens, I would call you to make sure you were okay and the emergency response vehicles were not headed to you.

Once a Green Bay resident again, hearing that first siren shifted me back to the default of calling you. I was instantly sad I couldn’t call you, and sadder I didn’t forecast it. 

As much as I attempt to practice and maintain high self-awareness, my spicy brain tends to hyper focus, resulting in some things getting repressed until an acute reminder jolts me into a quickly conjured memory.

Thanks to proximity and the flexibility of my job, I have been able to help out some loved ones in a variety of manners. Though not always easy, it is very rewarding. I have also been the blessed recipient of close and trusted people when I have needed help.

It is interesting to see how people who have not seen me since I have lived here treat me. Those that offer me the grace of asking/seeing how I am now are really appreciated.

Those who project assumptions that I haven’t grown and evolved in that span are even more appreciated because it makes my progress more clear. To not be bitter or resentful, and to just observe and not judge is a far cry from the immature and aimless person without a healthy self-identity that I was.

On my bad days, those interactions actually help make my day better.

These days I have moments of impatience of not being where I want to be yet, especially with my writing, but the value of knowing how far I have come cannot be understated, as long as I keep myself moving forward.

The reasons I moved from Green Bay are still present, but now I have a much better attitude that is informed by my progress and the perspective of living elsewhere until I was ready to come back. I loved my time in the valley and miss it, and am even more grateful to be back in town to continue my life’s journey in its myriad known and unknown ways.

There were new and tenured friends awaiting my move back to Green Bay, plus some reconnections that have been wonderful. And, people who I want to see if reconnecting is possible and mutually healthy. Time intentionally spent will tell, and maybe I will have something to share here next year.

Having reminders of so many lamentable aspects of my past all over Green Bay isn’t always easy to contend with. But I must stay aware that they point me to some of the next phases of the work I need to do on myself—this is the only productive way for me to deal with those bad parts of my past.

As wonderful as it is to be close to my girlfriend and everyone I’ve missed, there is definitely a huge gap with you not here.

From my childhood house on Holzer, to your house on Victory, to your apartment on Lenwood, and to your final residence on Cardinal; to the Red Owl, to Prange Way, to the Mason Street casino, to all the streets we’d go up and down for bumming around and for Christmas decoration sightseeing; to all the drive throughs and restaurants, to Tony’s Drum shop to Henri’s Music; from Annunciation and West High School to our childhood house so my sister and me didn’t have to be latch key kids; to Shopko, and to Woodman’s, whose parking lot you sat in for over two hours in September 2000 while I filled out an application that got me a job that became the next sixteen years of my work life, and beyond because it continues to teach me, all the way to the church at St. Joseph’s Parish that held your funeral, your 1950 wedding to Grandpa Belgie, and so many other milestones in between.

The fact that so many of the good parts of my past all around this city are deeply ingrained with you and by you is a daily set of blessings I could not be more grateful for.

Until next time Flo Baby, you are very loved and very missed. 

Now, below will be the eulogy I wrote and delivered for my grandma’s funeral for those who want to reread it, and for those new to me and my work so you can have my fresh perspective of when I lost one of the most important people of my life.

For Grandma

My name is Craig Elbe, Florence’s first grandchild. Oftentimes I’ve called myself her fifth child as that’s how she made me feel. She simply was another mother. Her sixth and youngest grandchild, Connor, can say the same thing. Even if there were twenty of us grandchildren, I’m confident her motherly love wouldn’t be diluted.

My first memories with my grandma, I’m told, involved me being very spoiled. I was simply too young to recall the bumming around I did with my grandma and whoever else was with us. There were many trips to many stores and restaurants, with a lot of time and love and money spent on me. Though those memories are not vivid for me, the genuine love she had for me was instilled and never left me.

Being filled with so much love before my conscious memory took hold removed any impetus to do anything crazy when I struggled with my confidence as I got older. My grandma set the tone for how to love your friends and family. She loved and cared for us all so much to the point of us all having an agreement to not tell her of any bad news until the situation improved enough to tell her. The toll bad news would take on her was too much to fathom putting her through it by seeking the solace her love and support provided without fail.

Very early in her life, my grandma found herself to be the peacemaker. Seeing both sides to situations informed her deep sense of empathy. She felt everything so much more than most people. For example, any time she’d read a card or note from one of us, she would tear up on the second or third sentence that expressed love and gratitude to her.

Whether it was just her and me or a room of people, I always found it entertaining how she’d run through the progression of her kids and grandkids before she’d land on the person whose attention she sought.

My grandma was the epitome of a people person. She seemed to find a way to the hearts of many people she interacted with. Her spunky personality and sense of humor was adored by all, from social gatherings to anyone who cared for her at any type of medical facility she was admitted to. Her smile and laugh could brighten any small or vast space, and I could always count on her warmth when life was cold to me.

She had many clichés as punchlines for jokes or to blow off some steam, and it was quite entertaining how she’d say them all like it was the very first time.

My grandma strived to see the good in everyone she met and saw. It wasn’t always easy for her but the effort was there despite evidence some people didn’t deserve her good heart.

Telephone conversations with grandma were always a joy. Most of the time, just saying goodbye was another conversation itself!

Walking into her home was a guessing game of what she was cooking or baking or canning. To this day I’ve not been able to find anything that was as good as her tomato juice or pickles. Anything else lacked the simple but essential ingredient of grandma’s love. What the perfect placebo!

Her refrigerator and walls were covered in pictures of the family, and she always had film in her camera for more moments to capture. What couldn’t fit on the fridge or walls found homes in the various photo albums she accumulated over the years.

While my sister and I were in school, grandma would bring us home when our parents weren’t able to. I’m sure she feared the worst for us walking home, especially once I got to high school and my sister was still in middle school. But, she didn’t want us to be home alone either. She was always my reliable ride to work and home when needed, and was always curious who I saw that day that she knew!

I started playing drums when I was a junior in high school, January of 2000 to be precise. Most days after school I had lots of pent up ambition or anger, so I went downstairs to play my drums. After a few months of practice, I was able to play along to some songs. When I’d begin a playing session, I consistently used the song “Home Sweet Home” by Motley Crue to warm up.

One day, after playing for a while, I came upstairs for a break. My grandma asked me about that song with the piano part in the beginning. I had no idea she was even paying attention! After some thought I remembered it was the first song, “Home Sweet Home” by Motley Crue. Right then and there, she told me she wanted me to play that song on my drums at her funeral! I couldn’t believe she made such a request, but I agreed to it then. It was the first time I felt like I was performing for someone. From that day forward, I always had a special bit of nerves while playing that song, even when she wasn’t there. Grandma being my first audience member seemed very appropriate. She was our family’s biggest cheerleader.

During the summer of 2000, I put myself in a situation where I had nowhere to go. Grandma was nearing the end of her 60s but without hesitation took me. Well, she may have hesitated a little because of my behavior at the time, but it wasn’t apparent. Grandpa had passed away just over four years ago at the time, so it was just her and me. Our only argument was about the length of my hair. She was upset I wanted to grow my hair really long, when all I wanted to do was look cool playing drums with long hair. It took me some years to realize this, but my grandma was just trying to protect me from the judgmental world.

The two months I lived with her finally started to break my rebellious nature. I learned what respect was, and that how I was treating my parents was very wrong. We were close before then, but her taking me in forged a special bond. Today, I’m proud to be the man I am. Those two months with grandma were the beginning stages of me realizing what it was to be a man of principle and character, and she was the only one able to truly reach me during my rebellious teen years.

At that time, she was receiving supplements and other household items from a mail order company called Melaleuca. Also at the time, I became a huge fan of the band Metallica. I had some tapes of some of their concerts and would play them while living with grandma. I never expected her to like the music so I only played the tapes with her permission. Out of the blue, one day she asked me if I was going to watch any Melaleuca. I was so confused for a couple seconds till I realized she wanted to watch Metallica with me! I had no idea she was even remotely interested in such music, and I doubt she really was. She was just being supportive of what I enjoyed and didn’t want to hinder my enjoyment.

The grace and class of how she carried herself was something to behold. Sure, she’d have her sad or weak moments that she’d confide in her close confidants, but she did the best she could with what she had and knew at the time.

Her frugality and tenacity was on display during one time I was visiting with her. It was in her last months of living alone. She noticed her telephone bill went up by about 8 dollars, so she called them up to have them reinstate the previous sale she had before the price hike. By the time I arrived to spend time with her that day, she proudly told me she succeeded in getting the sale price back. She said, and I loosely quote, “It took me till the third person till I got what I wanted, but it’s going to save me about $100 a year!”

While grandpa was living, he and my grandma did the “casino tour” of Wisconsin the short time he was retired before he got sick and passed away. We always knew when they hit the Royal Flush when they would show up at our house with some extra money for my parents, and we knew they were on their way to our other aunts and uncles to give them their share.

Their generosity was apparent, and she continued the trend after grandpa died. I became her casino partner some years later, and she always shared with me what she won but wouldn’t let me share what I won. All she’d let me do was pay for our lunch or dinner.

When I’d be out and about with grandma to bring her to some appointments or at the casino, people would often remark about how nice of a grandson I was to be with grandma. That annoyed me a lot. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with grandma and it wasn’t obligatory. I just wish I spent more time with her.

My grandma was very selfless and never made anything about herself. All she wanted in return was to be grateful and not take her for granted.

Recently, before she passed away, I went to her old house, then her old apartment. I parked for just a minute in each place. I wanted to soak up, one last time while she was still alive, all the recollections of days gone by of all the fun we had. While the memories were very present for me, sadly, those places just lacked the magic once present when my grandma called those places home.

This day is a combination of sadness and happiness for me. We all knew this day was coming, and I’m very grateful we were given a lot of notice, so to speak. The last time I saw her was while she was still pretty good and remembered the good times we shared together. I offered my last love and gratitude. The last time I looked at her face she had the loving smile and grace we’ve all been privy to.

For today’s service, I wanted to do something special for my grandma. Besides the anecdotes I’ve shared, I chose this outfit instead of the customary black colors for a funeral. These are the colors of the house she called home for over 50 years, and was the place she took me in during that summer of 2000. This is my tribute to that time in our lives where we became closer and for what she taught me with love and by example. This jacket is also the last, or one of the last, suit jackets she purchased for my grandpa before he passed away. She gave it to me many years ago and I’ve never worn it till today, and won’t ever again.

As the years have gone on, I’ve not felt right about bringing my drums and playing “Home Sweet Home.” Instead, I’d like recite the lyrics of the song most applicable to her:

“I’m on my way, I’m on my way, home sweet home. Tonight, tonight I’m on my way. Just set me free, home sweet home.”

Grandma, now that you’re home with your parents, sisters, grandpa and the rest of your deceased friends and family, I want to tell you it was an honor being your grandson. The way you introduced me to people with pride, even in your last days while you struggled for air, meant the world to me then and always will. Thank you for everything, and until next time, I love you.