Dooley Noted: 7/31/2016
This weekend, I stayed in a lovely hot spring resort and made s’mores with my husband.
As I tasted the tender crisp graham cracker, I was shuttled back to my childhood.
I could remember being around 7 years old, rummaging through the cabinets under my grandmother’s sink.
I was searching for her graham crackers, which, as a child, I assumed were called “Gram” crackers.
After all, she’s the only one who ever seemed to have them.
She would sit at the table and tell me stories about the farm.
We would nibble on the sweet and crunchy crackers, as she would tell me the family fun stories that other family members assumed I already knew.
Grandma was the only one who treated me like a person, instead of a child they had to shelter from the truth.
As the years passed, I made a habit of staying at Grandma’s.
As the years accumulated, we ate more and more Gram crackers.
She told me more of the family secrets she deemed ready for me to know.
As the baby of the family, most of my family members continued to keep family truths from me, even as I got into adulthood.
But not my grandma.
At her funeral, I sat in the back, away from everyone else.
I felt the light shine through the windows of the funeral home, and I knew she was everywhere around us.
I understood death at a very young age, and I think it helped me gravitate towards being around it in my career.
On the day of her rest, I ate Gram crackers in her honor, thanking her for trusting me with knowledge no one else saw fit for me to know.
To me, Gram crackers will always signify truth.
I hope you find and share your truth, whether or not Gram crackers are involved.
As always, it’s your call.
– Dr. Kathy Dooley
