There’s a video I found called “My Mom’s Motorcycle.”
It’s a video of a grandson narrating the lives of both of his grandfather’s achievements and hobbies. He tells us how one liked to fish and hunt, the other liked to sail and invent. But he concludes that those men are not remembered for their hobbies or their personalities – they are remembered for their devotion to their wives, for their big families. He says that it did not matter what those men had, but what those men gave.
I totally encourage watching this video because you are guaranteed to gain some inspiration.
I want to talk about my grandmother.
Her name is Joan Audrey Cobin née Tagliere.
She was born in Chicago, Illinois on June 24th, 1929. She was born right on the cusp of the stock market crash/the beginning of the Great Depression. (October 27, 1929).
She grew up in a two-story house with her 23 cousins and all of their parents because none of them could afford to live separately. She still has a photo from Thanksgiving in 1931 of all 63 of them huddled around 8 tables put together.
When she was older, she moved out of her parents house (that they could finally afford to build) and set off for New York City – because, according to her, “That’s where everyone went.”
While she was a nursing assistant there, she met a man named George Cobin – who was 9 years her junior. They got married on January 19th, 1961 in her apartment with just a few friends.
They moved to Santa Monica, California and lived there for a while, just enjoying married life. My grandmother didn’t think much on children, she was more interested in her career. George was an athlete and a mathematician, while she was a nurse.
But you know, birth control wasn’t super common. So on March 10th, 1963, they had their first child, a son, John Macarewich Cobin.
The happy three lived well in California. They had a nice house, an avocado tree and an overly shedding dog.
In 1965, They had one more child, a daughter named Gina Marie. My grandmother felt the family was good this way, the way she put it, “Two kids, two parents – easy.”
But things weren’t easy forever. On April 22nd, 1966, George passed away from his short battle with cancer.
It was a shock to the family. He was only 28 years old. And George, well he was always exercising or eating healthy things.
So there my grandmother was, a 36-year-old woman with a part-time job and two kids to feed. She told me she didn’t mourn until a lot later in life, and that’s why she never remarried.
By 1970, my grandmother had worked her way from nursing assistant to head administrator. Her hard work provided a good future for her kids.
Her determination and continuation in the wake of loss inspires me. She took my father, John and my aunt all around the world – never letting them get too comfortable at home. Even to this day she carries on the adventure. She loves to send me books and poetry she likes – just for me to learn. And every summer we have managed to take some sort of trip together, which are incredibly special to me.
(Chicago trip 2013)
“What’s there for me in 1966?”
Murmurs 