GAGA WOULD SAY

Dear Spike:

Her hands were soft as rose petals. And her heart was big as the ocean. 

Your great grandmother, Dorothy Meath, died Friday, just a few hours after your mother reached her bedside in Oregon. "Gaga," as we called her, was 92 years old. She was gracious and kind and strong and decent. And we will miss her very, very much.

Although you will not get to know your Gaga the way we would have wished, there is still a lot you can learn from her. Of course, your mother will have far more stories to share with you than I will, but let me whet your whistle, as Gaga would say...  

Stand by your man, but with your own two feet on the ground: 

Gaga lost her husband decades ago and she never stopped loving or admiring him — but she also did not let his life define her life. Having lived through the Great Depression, she knew the value of work and she understood the importance of independence. She often told your mother that it was crucial for women to be able to stand for themselves, so that they could walk away from a bad husband with a moment's notice, if need be. There's probably more romantic things to be said about marriage, but none more practical. 

There is nothing worse than war:

Gaga was born in 1916, two years into World War I. That was supposed to be the war to end all wars, but she lived to see many more. Her son, Don, fought in Vietnam. She despised the way that war tore apart families. The only time I ever saw her become angry with me was when she learned that I was contemplating returning to Iraq over your mother's objections. She called me "a nincompoop" and refused to speak to me for the rest of the night.   

If you can't say something nice, say something even nicer:

Gaga didn't care much for your given name, and she made no secret of her dislike for your nickname. But that didn't chance at all how she felt about you. You weighed no more than five pounds the first time she held you. She called you "my littlest, littlest angel." And that's what you are.

Love is a system of unspoken agreements: 

Gaga used to help your mother get ready for school in the morning. On days when your mother would ask, Gaga would make her an ice cream sundae for breakfast. Your mother never abused this arrangement, and so Gaga never had to turn her down when she asked.  

You'll never be alone in the kitchen: 

Gaga loved fresh produce. And she loved to cook for her family. There is a photograph of Gaga and your mother, from our wedding day, on the windowsill in our kitchen. Even before she passed away, we called her "the saint of the kitchen" and imagined that she was there whenever we brought home a bag of veggies from the market, or started a soup on the stovetop, or sliced into a warm loaf of bread. Now we don't have to imagine anymore. Gaga is there. And she always will be.

Love,

dad