This weekend, I had the honor of flying to Minnesota for a quick weekend visit to see my grandmother. My brother and sister had planned this trip for months before, and while on the phone with my sister two weeks before they were to go, I wistfully said I wished I was going. After some gentle coercing from my sister and brother, I had a plane ticket booked from LAX to Minneapolis. However, I was a surprise for my grandma! Nobody knew I was going, and we had some very excited relatives to see upon my arrival.
One thing I love about seeing my grandma is filling in the gaps of our family history. I know the basics, but I’m always so curious about where exactly we came from, and from who. For example, while I didn’t get specifics, I’ve confirmed that many people on my dad’s side of the family have “a way with words”, a talent that I hope I’m properly utilizing. I also found out in addition to the name Hannah, which I love, and hope to name one of my future children, we also had a Matilda in the family, and her nickname was Tilly. Those are awesome heirloom names for the time when I finally pop out a spawn. (Believe me – I was reminded about 17 times this weekend that I’ve been married THREE YEARS and still have yet to “bear an heir”.) (Ok, so it wasn’t put in those terms, but the heat is on. Procreate! Now!) (***All good things come to those who wait, was my response.)
While describing family relations, my grandma mentioned Olga, my grandpa’s brother’s sister-in-law. Olga wasn’t remembered for her charitable contributions to society, or the way she made a mean biscuit. Olga was remembered for being “a big lady”. If Olga was an ounce, she was 300 pounds. In fact, she was so big, that she had to have a custom casket made, and the pallbearers had to hold it from the bottom instead of the sides, so she didn’t bust through the bottom. I was horrified. None of this was being mentioned in a patronizing or rude way, but simply as a matter of fact. This is the sad side of obesity. If my body continues to go rogue and my actions don’t fight it, could I be remembered as the person who needed a custom casket? Nope. I won’t allow it.
As I’m harshly reminded every time I visit the doctor, I need the plus-size blood pressure cuff. Airplane seats are snug. I don’t want to outgrow things any longer. I’m fine with outgrowing things mentally, but not physically. I want to be “regular” size, and heck, even being described as “chunky” is fine. But please, for the love of God, I cannot be remembered as the person who needed a custom casket. This message stood with me as we ate dinner at the 58 club, known for its appearance on Man Vs. Food for Juicy Lucys, a hamburger patty stuffed with oozing cheese. I enjoyed some appetizers of fried cheese curds and onion strings, but when the time came to order my meal, I ordered a juicy lucy with no bun, and carrot sticks instead of fries. Enough is enough. I can splurge, but I need to make sacrifices too. I can’t always have my cake and eat it too, because there are things more important than French fries and pretzel rolls. When I croak, I want to be remembered for things like this: my blog, my cupcake decorating, my kindness, my sense of humor, my altruism, my sarcasm, my blonde hair, my blue eyes, my foot-in-mouth disease… please God, anything, but the size of my body. (And I just remembered I’m going to be cremated. Whew!)
Have you ever experienced someone being remembered in a less than positive light, for the way they looked or something that happened to them? What was your reaction?