What I Learned from my Scorpio Grandma

If someone were to ask me who had the most influence on my values, approach to life, and philosophy, my grandma would be top of mind. I didn’t have a soft-spoken, gray-haired, gentle grandmother—I had a Scorpio grandmother. And she was proud of her authenticity, boldness to say what needed to be said (with no cushion for landing), and her signature “wicked witch of the west” cackling laugh.

She used to joke with us that if her grandkids, seven granddaughters and two grandsons, didn’t behave, she’d come back and haunt us once she died. After she passed, I waited and waited to see if she’d hold true on that threat. Thankfully, the only visitation I received was a haunting brush of the hair off my forehead a few nights after she passed and a sense of her unconditional love.

Born into a poor farming family, and the oldest of twelve children, my grandma grew up helping with the farm and quickly learned to take care of a home and her younger sisters and brothers. As a child, she watched her parents grieve the death of two of those siblings—one from a tragic farm accident and the other from illness—yet pulled through these experiences with the heart of a healer.

One of the things that set my grandma apart from most, was her genuine love for animals. All kinds of animals—I remember her nursing a large, black, creepy crow with a broken wing back to health and caring for a baby raccoon she named “Boomer” until he was ready to be released. Boomer would rummage through her kitchen cupboards, dragging out pots and pans, as he scampered around her kitchen freely.

I heard stories about her pet skunk—after a mother skunk had been killed or abandoned, my grandma took in the orphaned kits and cared for them as her own. Later in life, we joked that she was the cliché “cat lady”. To this day, I’ve never seen cats so at ease with another human. I remember one of my last visits before she passed; Elvis, a wild-looking stray, with a distinct snaggletooth, perched on the back of her worn armchair, affectionately licking her cheek as if she were his queen. In all honesty, some of these eccentricities were appalling to me back then, but hey, she lived fully and wasn’t ashamed of anything—and that’s a trait I didn’t fully appreciate until later in life—once I had lived a little myself and had gotten past my youthful know-it-all, judgey self.

I always knew my grandma was different than most people but the essence of what made her different always seemed evasive to me. I’d think to myself, “no one else’s grandma cusses like a sailor….” or “who else has to worry about their grandma showing her newly, reconstructed breasts, to their friend when they come over for a visit??”

One of the most humiliating moments of my childhood was when I invited a friend over to my grandma’s house to play—my grandma had survived a double-mastectomy to treat breast cancer in her 40’s and was recovering from a recent breast reconstruction—before I knew what was happening, my grandma’s new additions were staring us in the face as she proclaimed, “I asked them to make them as large as Dolly Parton’s!!” Our awkwardly flushed faces gave my grandma the entertainment she was seeking—my friend never came over again—but to my grandma, this was just another part of life! We all have to face death, and scars, and embarrassment, so we may as well embrace it!! (I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was the lesson she was firmly instilling in me).

Everything my grandma did, she did with gusto. She didn’t leave her home much, something else I didn’t realize until later in life, but she was constantly doing something. Baking, gardening, finding old beat-up things at garage sales or off the curb on city junk days and then fixing them up. She’d drag me along on these excursions and have me help load up the car with her treasures. When I’d complain of boredom, she’d say, “if you’re bored, I’ll put you to work! I need my floors vacuumed, the kitchen cupboards polished, and my windows and mirrors shined!” I’d whine even more that housework was “boring.” So she’d come alongside me, give me a pinch or two, with her laugh and show me the “right” way to clean. We’d clean together and then make homemade play-dough from flour, water, and salt—or if I were “really” lucky, I’d get a dollar to spend the next time we went to a garage sale.

Some of my favorite memories with my grandma are of watching Dr. Phil, Jerry Springer, or our all time favorite, The Golden Girls, with homemade popcorn. She loved Estelle Getty’s role as Sophia—and of course held nothing back on her opinions on Blanche’s love affairs—despite my naïveté on sex and relationships as a child.

With a reputation for saying it like it was, my grandma’s home was often the center of family drama and excitement (maybe not if you were the subject of the drama—but it was entertaining to be on the sidelines!). Divorce, death, adultery, drugs, mental illness—it all flowed through the doors of my grandma’s home—and I had a front row seat to observe her direct pronouncements and advice to all.

Only a Scorpio woman could pierce through the outer facade of a person and call out the delusions they were unwilling to face. There were harsh words on many occasions but they were always countered with unwavering loyalty and genuine concern. Get to the heart of the cancer, rip it out, and then stitch it up and heal. Another philosophy I learned from this 98 pound, spit-fire of a woman.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but my grandma managed to teach me many of life’s basic survival skills just by living authentically in front of me. I heard the tough conversations in the family, I saw the struggles firsthand, and I was also encouraged to ask questions—I didn’t realize at the time just how valuable that was. I had a unique advantage over others because I grew up knowing what not to do because I was allowed to see the consequences of poor decisions all around me—within my own family.

And when I questioned the sanity of my family, and the purpose of the darkness I had to live through—I had a firm and unwavering voice alongside me, to speak the harsh but necessary truths, dive deep into the fears I couldn’t face alone, and remind me that life is dark, painful, embarrassing, lonely, crazy, hilarious, rich, passionate—and meant to transform us one day at a time.