Grandma D, as we called her, had a larger-than-life personality. Growing up, I loved going to her house. I have vivid memories of playing in my aunt's old broken down Volkswagen Beetle, of watching Star Trek for the first time with her husband Rick, and of playing with my aunt Sara and her dalmatians. I'll never forget the joy of watching her cook in her "Coca-Cola" themed kitchen or of watching her player piano magically move all the keys.
As a young man, I lived just down the road from her and we had a chance to reconnect. I would walk down to her house on Sunday evenings and we would all have dinner together. It was a rare dinner that didn't eventually end with a discussion about her belief in aliens and ghosts. For a time it was good.
In the end, our relationship couldn't bear the weight of our family history and it broke apart. Regardless, she was my grandma and I loved her in spite of our shared faults. She is a part of my story and who she was lives in me, for better or for worse.
