Courageous, sassy and well-spoken

Several people have told me that I am a Baldwin through and through, despite my olive skin and tendency to talk with my hands. It has only been in recent years that I realized I have “Harvey-isms” – quick wit, clever responses, an offbeat sense of humor. But I have always known I’m like my grandmother. I have been writing, writing and writing since I could hold a pen, and every time I had a new story to tell anyone, I’d hear, “Oh, she gets that from her grandmother.”

Anyone who knows her knows she was a storyteller. She still remembers her father as "a giant of a man, six foot three, with the broadest shoulders you've seen." And she can still tell you about the time she was attending Catholic school at age 6, and how her mother yelled at the wretched nun who hit my grandmother with a ruler. Age 6? I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday and she remembers 86 years ago.

People joked that Grandma and I were a perfect match because I listened to her stories in total awe every single time, no matter how often she repeated them. But I think I speak for everyone here when I say we will miss the stories. The silence that replaces them now is heart wrenching. The ending to her story was a sad one – but rarely did Grandma end her stories with “happily ever after.” That wasn’t her style.

But the silence does not stand a chance against the most powerful weapons against death and loss: Legacy. She has left us a legacy of memory, of human experience, of all the little anecdotes that make our lives complicated and beautiful. You will be in your kitchen one holiday, frantically trying to prepare dinner, and you’ll remember the story Anne told you about the time that she had to pluck, clean and cook a turkey in the late hours of Christmas Eve. You will always laugh when you reach a Certain Age and think of Anne, who used the line “It’s not like I’m 90!” until it could no longer apply.

And her legacy goes beyond the written word. It was in her patience (take one look at her grandchildren and you’ll get it), her warmth and her almost-famous sense of decorum. She would probably take offense to the word “Old,” but to me, she embodied old-world charm. She was always impeccably and stylishly dressed and always offered a place to sit and something to eat when you came to call, even when only rice cakes were on the menu. And, of course, she always had a story to share.

To this day I sometimes still cannot believe I inherited a talent that became the very core of who I am – a writer. My grandmother was the woman who taught me how to tell a story. I cannot thank her enough for that. There is a part of me who feels as though I’ve lost my biggest inspiration, but I still have her legacy.

Whether we're writers or not, we can all learn from her example: never be afraid to express yourself. I believe she would want us to speak from that place in your heart where you are most yourself. Speak directly, simply, honestly. Don’t be afraid to speak with a little sass and without any apologies. Tell us what you see and want us to see; tell us what you hear and want us to hear. Trust your own heart. The words will come.