Simply Beautiful

My maternal grandmother passed away in April, and this is the eulogy I gave at her memorial service.  It took me awhile to share it, but yesterday, I saw an older woman eating fast food, and I immediately thought of her.  I smiled and knew it was time to share these words.

Ask anyone who ever met my grandmother. One of the first things they'll tell you is that she was beautiful.  From a young age, I knew this to be a fact.  When she entered a room, all eyes turned toward her.  When she moved, it was with grace. When she smiled, you were immediately won over. When she spoke, it was intoxicating. Like a movie star. Like royalty. Like a dream. She was truly one of the world's most beautiful women.

And for some, beauty is only skin deep.  But my grandmother's beauty went beyond her aesthetics. Her beauty reached down to who she was at her core; and at her core, she was a simple woman.

Don't get me wrong. There was plenty about grandma that matched her fancy exterior. This was, after all, a woman who was on a first-name basis with the staff at the Clinique counter at Saks and who could recall the address of the diamond district faster than any of our birthdays. She taught me early on the importance of treating yourself to a fine piece of jewelry or a designer bag. But this was just a small part of who she was.  And for those of us who knew her best, we knew the truth.  And the truth is simple.

Grandma liked the simple things. Did you ever share a meal with her? I've spent countless hours with her at The Mansion Diner on the corner of 86th and York. There was no way that after 27 years of ordering the same thing that the servers didn't know what she wanted, but each time she ordered as if it was the first time. "I would like one cheese omelette with three JUMBO eggs and American cheese. Well done." As if there were different size eggs in the back just waiting for someone to choose between the regular and the jumbo eggs. And that may be the most complicated thing she craved. If you gave grandma her choice of anything in the world to eat, she'd likely choose an Arby's sandwich or a McDonald's hamburger. To her, these items were all you could ever ask for. They were simple. They were beautiful.

And grandma didn't need any extraordinary means of entertainment. There were many times when I'd visit her in the city, and as I would leave for the night, she'd say, "Brianita, mi amor, go and paint the town red." It was a phrase of which she was always fond. What was most ironic is that while she was urging me to live it up, she was never happier than when she was at home surrounded by the people she loved. As a kid, I can remember her sitting around the kitchen table at Tulip Hill playing "anillos" with all of the females in the family. As an adult, I can remember her playing American Girl dolls with Kayla and Sami. But one of my favorite memories is of grandma curled up on her couch in Manhattan, with her knees pulled to her chest, talking on the phone with my grandfather. One would never have guessed that they were watching a conversation between a couple who had been divorced for decades. All you could see was the love. She looked so happy. So youthful. So content. The moment was simple. It was beautiful.

This is how I will remember my grandmother: a perfect balance between two extremes. She was simple. She was beautiful. She was simply beautiful. And she will be missed. So, to use her own words, today we say goodbye. A big kiss. Un beso. God bless you.