The Inheritance Of Death

I don't have a lot to remember my grandma by. She and I had a very rocky relationship towards the end of her life. I know I have a picture of Mickey Mouse painting Walt Disney somewhere from her that I will receive after college. However, this painting will always remind me of my dad. He has the same painting in his office and has had it hanging there since I can remember. I was very saddened to find that I had nothing to really remind me of her and the amazing life she led. Especially after losing a very special bond that she and I once shared.

Suzanne Wendham Tate, aka Grandma Sue, was a strong woman. Soon after giving birth to my dad, she was left by her husband, Grandpa Sam. This put her in a strange position of having to work long, terrible hours at jobs she didn't like. Going from being the Argentine ambassador's daughter to single, working class mom is not an easy transition. She had an iron will though, and was not a lady who would call it quits. One might think that she would start asking help from others when too many times she had to watch her only child, baseball mitt in hand, sit on the front lawn waiting for a visit from a father who would never show as promised. Not Grandma Sue, she taught her son to be strong like her, and to use pain as motivation to succeed in life.

Her strong spirit and stubbornness was infectious and rubbed off on my dad, and even myself, in a degree that is very easy for an outsider to see. My dad's success in life is a tribute to everything that woman stood for. In the end she was able to retire to a small condo off a golf course in Ramona, California. There she was finally able to relax and take a breather while the rest of California shrank and became more active.

At a very young age I remember loving going to my grandma's house. After moving to Idaho, I always cherished the few visits I had. I loved listening to her tell me about horseback riding through the Argentine country side. It was beautiful to listen to the fluent Spanish that she could roll off her tongue with ease. She would take me on walks with her dog around the golf course, when I would gleefully run ahead collecting the many stray golf balls that every golfer loses. Afterwards she would always put on the movie, Flight of the Dragons. While enjoying the rarely watched movie, she would prepare spinach for me. She loved cooking spinach for me because I am the only other member of the family besides her that had a love for it. She would smile as I ravenously attacked the green goodness she generously topped with lemon juice. She also made it a point to play either Candyland or The Pink Panther every time I visited so that she could have time to have an actual conversation with me. This is harder than it sounds for I was young and always on the move. It was frustrating that I would only visit her once or twice every couple years.

My dad finally got to repay some of her kindness while I was a junior in high school. To put an end to the infrequent visits, he bought her a house in Pocatello only about five minutes away. She would finally be able to enjoy her retirement and (unknown at the time) the last few years of her life. It was so nice to have her close by. I could go and converse with her on a whim. This is something that up until then had been virtually impossible. I always felt accomplished after a hard days work of helping her out by shoveling manure (her horse, Katie, sure knew a thing or two about constantly making stinky messes) or cleaning out her gutters. I felt that it was the least I could do after everything she had done for me. I could help her even more when after a tiff with my mother she let me move