My Sassy

Echoes of Grief

My Sassy’s painting of my oldest child based on a photo from summer 2018- I look at this painting every day in my kids’ room.

Today I responded to a post about a 96 year old woman who died. When Patricia Routledge was about to turn 95, she listed off an incredible number of accomplishments after turning 50, including beginning to paint watercolors.

My note reactions took off after posting a few of my own grandmother’s paintings, when I stated she began painting in her mid 60s. I consulted all my family to see if they could recall an exact year, but the general consensus was her painting started when my twin and I were in high school so around 2002. Our grandmother was born in 1938.

I am named for my grandma Sally Kohler. My full name is Sally Elizabeth Duncan Heydary, a name almost impossible to fit in the driver’s license signature line. I wanted to be a Heydary and even though I’ve always gone by my middle name, I couldn’t give up my connection to my namesake. My mom is adopted and yet I constantly hear how much of my Sassy people see in me. When I was 7, a mom of my schoolmate commented how much I looked like her. My Sassy had a great knowing smile. I was more open than she thought proper and she often told me, “You don’t have to tell everything you know.”

This week I have seen all my memories of our last beach trip with my Sassy from 5 years ago. I felt the grief of knowing her great grandkids have grown so much older, of knowing both my youngest and my niece have no memories of her. They were less than 2 when she died. My oldest was 4 when she died, and his memories are hazy too. He vaguely remembers our last Christmas together in 2020, it felt rushed because we were trying to limit our time together, our kids were all back in daycare and we could see my Sassy wasn’t well. Her weight loss from October to December was dramatic but no one confirmed her cancer diagnosis to me until January.

I don’t worry about my Sassy living a full life, I know she enjoyed all of her passions until the end of her life. Most importantly, as my father wrote in her obituary, “She loved her family fiercely.”

She was part of my dad’s life for 40 years. My mother had her for almost 57 years, my uncle for 54. Every January, my oldest kid tells me Sassy is singing, “Happy birthday dear Trippy” to my uncle in heaven. They both had January birthdays, I hate that they are both gone from this earth now. As her only granddaughters, my sister and I were very blessed to have her with us for 33 years. We had the most beautiful weddings because of her floral arrangement talents, I know we both wrote notes to thank our grandparents for paying for the whole reception and florals but of course we could never thank them enough. Both our wedding days will always be a perfect memory for me.

My Sassy’s paintings hang in my house. I see them every day. I think of her every day. The painting of my child looking out at the ocean takes my breath away every day as I sit on my kids’ bottom bunk bed.

Every time my hair is a mess, I think of her saying to me during her last clear moments in the ICU, “Elizabeth, what is that wild hair-do?”

I will never delete the last voicemail I have where I can hear her voice. It’s from May 7, 2018, long before her death. She’s worried about me driving alone late at night because I was coming to her house for Mother’s Day with my then 16 month old. I have other later videos, and it’s always jarring to hear her voice again. I fight to keep it in my memory.