Hollywood Forever

On Tuesday, Sigur Ros's crew sent out an email to those of us with tickets to attend the show at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery on Sunday.  They asked for volunteers who would be willing to share a short recorded vocal piece about a loved one that had passed away, to be played right before the show began. Naturally, I jumped at this. Well, I was selected, and, after a huge bout of writer's block (lol story of my life, amirite?) I came home and vomited this little bit out in about ten minutes. Then I recorded it (which was awful and awkward). But I thought that since I'm sharing it with a billion other people, why not share it with y'all.

However.

Some disclosures.

This is my perspective.

You may think I'm romanticizing.

Fine.

My family may think it's all bullshit.

Okay.

But I wrote it out of love, respect, truth, and honor.

Because sometimes I feel tremendously guilty for never having visited her when she was in the hospital. Because I was so selfish that I didn't want to ruin my last memory of my grandmother.

So here it is.




Grandma Palazzo lived sacrificially.
She gave everything she had to everyone else.
From her co-signature on my gigantic student loan,
To the groceries from her kitchen --
bought on a fixed income.
She wanted to secure a better life
for her children.
And her grandchildren.
Her generosity extended beyond provisions --
She showered us in praise, and was elated by even our simplest accomplisments.
And never expected or asked for anything --
ANYTHING.
In return.

Every Christmas Eve
All her children, her grandchildren, her nieces, her nephews, her sister, and every other family member would gather at my uncle's house.
This was all for her.
It was our annual repayment.
Our Thanksgiving.

My immediate family had moved across the country.
And I'd been away at college.

But I returned for the festivities on December 24, 2008.

At this point, Grandma Palazzo had grown slightly beyond her loveable ditzy mentality,
and was heading toward dementia.
She wasn't as actively participating in conversation any more.
Mostly, she listened.
She tried. As always.
She gave.
Even if all she could give at this point
was just a smile.

That night I found myself worrying about her.
And her health.
And her situation.

I wondered if she was suffering.
From anything.

But as I was saying my goodbyes that night,
Having just given her what would wind up being
My final hug and kiss,
I stole one more look back at her from my uncle's kitchen.

She sat -- beaming - on an ottoman in the center of the room.
Smiling.
And glancing around a room filled with her family.
Dressed elegantly in a red sweater she accepted as a gift from my family.

In a word, she was
Satisfied.

It was in that moment that I realized --
It was the opposite of suffering that was going on in her life.
She was thriving.
Thriving on the love we'd returned.

It was her goal to make us happy.
And she realized her mortal time was up.

That was the last time I saw her.

In her last moments --
My cousin said --
She went on and on and on
about how proud we had all made her.
And, in turn, how happy that made her.

Grandma Palazzo had succeeded.