Every year my paternal grandmother proudly reminded us her birthday was the same as Elvis Presley’s.

January 8th.

Dorothy, age 58 and looking quite fashionable in 1960

She was a difficult woman to get close to, but she was clear in her affection for Elvis.  I’m not too sure how she felt about me.

You see, when I was two my grandparents’ only daughter–my father’s only sibling– died tragically and unexpectedly of heart failure.  She was in her twenties, happily married and pregnant.  Her adoring family was, of course, devastated and from then on my sweet, shy aunt’s name was rarely spoken.

Lives changed almost immediately.  My father moved his young family back to RI and spent the rest of his Navy career ashore.  My grandparents sold their home–the home with all of the memories, next to the relatives I would never meet–and moved two streets away from our new house in a different neighborhood.  My uncle soon realized his visits were too hard on the family, and he disappeared from our lives until my grandparents were both dead.

(I met him once.  My parents called to tell me they had a surprise visitor and would I like to meet my Uncle Colin?  I was thrilled, jumped in the shower to get ready, and immediately started sobbing–when you’re a Mother of Six the shower is the only place for breakdowns.  All of a sudden I’d realized what I could have had–an uncle, an aunt, cousins and nieces and nephews and big family dinners. )

So you can see why my grandmother wasn’t cuddly and warm.  Her heart had been broken and she wasn’t really interested in sharing it again.  And who could blame her?

I realize that now.   I wonder how she managed to survive the loss of a daughter and a grandchild and keep breathing.

As a child I could do very little to please her.  She was busy with her crafts–she braided and hooked rugs, true works of art–and her summer home, a place we all loved, on Hundred Acre Pond.  She tamed chickadees and chipmunks (they would eat seed from her hand), baked blueberry pies, fried the fish we caught and kept a notebook in her purse to record unusual license plates.  She loved yard sales, thrift shops and bingo.  But she didn’t exactly crave the company of her grandchildren.

So Grandma, the granddaughter who inherited your love of crafts, baking, blueberries, chipmunks, row boats, lakes and thrift shops would like to wish you and Elvis a Happy Birthday.

p.s.  I am taking good care of your cookie cutters, china closet, ceramic lobster dish and photos, but I sold the Elvis records at a yard sale.