"It’s never too late…"

In memory of my beloved grandmother… whose 85th birthday would have been today.  I read this aloud for the gathered crowd on the day we honored her at her funeral.  Today, as I remember her on her special day, I felt called to share it with you.

Helen Coakley
01.26.25 – 08.30.07

Oh, Gramma Coke.

“Gramma Coke.”  That’s what my dear little Adryth had taken to calling her.

To me, she was most always “Gram.”  Nothing fancy, not even the whole word ‘Gramma.’  Just ‘Gram.’

Back when my Papa passed away, my Gram literally asked me to stand here on this day and read something I’d written about her.  A pretty outrageous thing to ask of someone, especially while you’re still living, but let’s face it – Gram – she never left you wondering what she was thinking.  If she wanted something from you, you knew about it.

Beyond that, in the somewhat recent past, she’d even gone so far as to ask me to write it in advance and read it to her so she could be sure to hear what I had to say about her!

Now that – that was definitely Gram.  She never wanted to miss a thing and she loved to be the center of attention.  And I could easily stand up here today and tell you all about the little things.

I could talk about the afghans she crocheted for everyone she knew and loved…

I could mention the way when you gave her a money gift, she would always happily proclaim “It’s the right color and the right size!”

I could share with you stories of how Gram used to baby sit my brother and me, faithfully, every Saturday night.  How she’d let me stay up late, watching Falcon Crest and Murder She Wrote while giving me foot rubs and blowing her cigarette smoke into that Smoke Eater gadget that never really did work.

I could reminisce about New Year’s Eve and how Papa would trot down the hall and go to bed, leaving me and Gram to wait for the ball to drop as we drank our bubbly “champagne.”

Or I could mention things to which all of you can relate – her famous spaghetti and meatballs, her love of the game BINGO, her dedication to the Red Sox and Patriots, and how she was always a night owl.

I could ask how many of her grandkids and great grandkids remember getting those birthday cards with dollar bills hidden inside.  I could mention how she was always so incredibly proud of her 6 grandkids and 10 great grandkids.

I could recollect how when gathered around the dining room table, she used to always beat all of us to the punch by asking, “How is everything?” sometimes before you’d even taken your very first bite!

But these are all things most of you already know about her.  And if I HAD written this speech back then, when Gram asked, I would’ve easily been able to write about all of these things.

But, you see, like my Gram, I believe I was blessed with the gift of telling it like it is.  And we all know Gram told it like it was.  Heck, the night before she died, I said something along the lines of how much I loved her.  She turned to me and smiled a knowing smile.  Then she said, “Jess, I love you too, even though you were, at times, a pain in the butt!”

We truly were cut from the same cloth, Gram and I – “the two Aquarians” as she used to say.

So now, today, standing before you, I must share with you the truth – because it’s no longer the little trivial things that stand out most in my mind when I think of my Gram.

Instead there is a story I must tell you.  A story you probably do not know.

Because now, the one thing that stands out most in my mind is how much my Gram had changed.

George Eliot once said, “It’s never too late to be who you might have been.”

My Gram sure proved that thought.

For me, it all starts on a Friday afternoon in late May.  I was thirty five weeks pregnant then.  And I fell down the stairs in my house.  I needed my Mom to go with me to the hospital and when I called her, she was with my Gram.

They were leaving Gram’s doctor’s office and she really had not been feeling well.  Yet when she heard the news of my fall, she immediately sent my mom right off to be with me.  She insisted that my mom take care of me, not her, no hesitations and no questions asked.  And I really think that’s when things took a huge turn.

That Sunday Gram ended up in the hospital and things really started to decline for her, health wise.

But there was not a single day I heard my Gram complain.

She revealed a strength and endless courage that I did not know she had.

She inspired me with her concern for my Mom and the way she always wanted to make sure my Mom was alright, even as she, Gram, was becoming weaker each day.

The way she expressed her determination to stay home until the very end, while always taking into consideration the effect of that decision on others – it really blew me away.  She refused to think only of herself, instead thinking of everyone else.

I was reminded of the younger woman she must have been and the way she worked so hard to always make ends meet for her family.  I thought back to the way she had given of herself endlessly as she took care of my Papa when he was the one in declining health.

I had the chance to get to know a very different Gram.  She now listened more than she spoke… She now shared not only her opinions and judgments, but also her fears and her doubts… She was giving more than she took.  She no longer wanted to be the center of attention and she truly wanted what was best for all of us.

Her determination, strength, and courage shone so brightly and inspired tremendous admiration in me.

She proved to me that it really never is too late to become who you might have been.

I aspire to one day end my life with as much dignity, courage, and strength as my Gram.

And so it has been said:

“The timing of death, like the ending of a story, gives a changed meaning to what preceded it.”

This for me is the ultimate truth.  No matter what differences of opinion we had before, no matter how many times we drove each other crazy, nor how many times we each thought the other was being a pain in the butt…

The simple fact of the matter is – Gram? She’d changed.  And that’s what I will always remember about her because she taught me – it’s never too late…