We’re back from the holidays. The subways are packed, the bars are filled with transplant reunions, and everyone’s trialing the sweater their Mom bought them, and discovering as suspected, it is too itchy. (I told her, that bitch. Where did that gift receipt go?)
And, I fear I can’t go into the New Year with this weighing on my chest. It has to be said:
I don’t want to see your Nan on Instagram.
No, in 2024 I want no photos of your Nana, Mee-Maw, Mimsy, MooMoo, GreeGooGooGagaGams littering my feed.
And before you begin hurling the “ageism” accusation, let me defend myself! (Though I freely admit I am an ageist. Your grandma should not be allowed to drive, and she certainly shouldn’t be on the Senate floor. Raise a glass to the voting corpse of Diane Feinstein!)
The argument has been made in recent years that photos of children shouldn’t be posted on the internet. For good reason! Children can’t consent to their photos being posted, and to post a photo of your child is not only to subject them to the cruelty and predatory behavior of the internet, but it puts them at real-life risk of kidnapping. Don’t believe me? Ask any family-life vlogger if their children go to public school. THEY DON’T! They’ve commodified their children to the point that letting little Timmy go to school subjects him to the genuine possibility of being confronted by a stalker, or more aptly a “follower,” a “fan.”
I think an adjacent argument could be made for your Nona! That woman witnessed JFK’s assassination, she has no idea what Instagram is! While she can consent to some things, like having her picture taken for the senior home’s monthly newsletter, she can’t consent to having her image shared on an app, on a piece of technology she couldn’t operate if her life depended on it. That’s why LifeAlert bracelets exist, people! Nan takes a tumble, can’t figure out FaceID in time, and bleeds out on her kitchen floor?! NO, give the women a bracelet with a button goddamnnit!
Ok, how about this, say you’ve got a tech-savvy glamma, I just–don’t want to see her? Instagram is my escape, yes, but more importantly, it’s where I go to feel bad about myself. I’m comparing my body to that of influencers. I’m scrolling through recipes, and workout regimens, vacation spots, books I’d read if I were a better person. Your maternal grandmother just doesn’t fit. She reminds me of death, which immediately strips me of all motivation to take “6 Easy Steps to a Six Pack,” and a six-pack is my New Year's resolution!
What’s even your motivation for posting her? With captions like, “lolz Nanny had too much mulled wine.” Or, “elder care going up on Tuesday,” your Meemaw posing wearing a pair of shades.
Sorry, do you think it’s funny? Do you think, “Haha– look at this video of grandma dancing, how funny!” She’s an older person existing, not a joke for you and your Insta followers. Who’s ageist now, bitch?
Ok, let’s say that wasn’t the tone of your post. Maybe it’s photos of your grandmother backintheday. Boogieing in a social hall, or even maybe a wedding photo, captioned with, “My Grandma is better than yours,” or “I hope to have a love like this one day.”
I’m sorry–what? That social hall your granny’s dancing in? IS WHITES ONLY. YOUR GRANDMA IS A RACIST. And you want love like your grandparents?! Your Pip-Pop is a ‘nam veteran! He KILLED people, came back with a drinking problem, and emotionally DESTROYED your grandmother, I’m GLAD he died before he could ruin her ENTIRE life.
Your grandmother isn’t some millenial-girl-boss-bad-ass, she’s a woman who survived. She’s only alive because modern medicine has come too far, and regularly prioritizes life over health.
If you have a grandparent who is still mentally present, whose mind hasn’t fallen into the deep abyss of dementia, you’re lucky. You should treat them with utmost respect, and keep their business off Instagram. Don’t post that your gran is bringing her boyfriend, Carl, to Christmas dinner–her OTHER boyfriend Fred doesn’t know he’s dating a swinger!
Your grandparent isn’t some quirky piece of content for you to consume. You should reserve posting them on Instagram for when they’re DEAD. THEN, and only then, I will comment, “I am so sorry for your loss-prayer hands emoji.”
So. Can you guys tell that I don’t have any grandparents?
Both of my grandfathers abandoned their families. My maternal side, the Irish flavor, was a drunk and was violently present until he fled tax evasion charges by escaping to the Cayman Islands. He died long before I was born. My paternal grandfather died just this summer. He cheated on my Nona and left her and their four children virtually homeless. My Nona had him arrested for refusing to pay child support at one point. He went on to become a Mormon. Now he’s dead, and I wonder if he really does get his own planet.
My mother’s mom, Grandma, suffered from a severe case of dementia. I never saw her much as a kid. The last few times I saw her, I was her older sister, Bridey, and not her youngest granddaughter, Jet. She’d slip into an Irish brogue, “Bridey, you look so good for 85!” Bridey had been dead for ten years at that point. I was 17. So yeah, I did look good for 85!
I did have one grandparent for a while. My Nona. I’ve written about her before, that article’s here. (Score, more reader engagement!) She gave me her red hair and her gingersnap cookie recipe. I still wake up from dreams, where I’m in her house, turning every corner looking for her.
The last time I saw her, I was fourteen. She died when I was 17. She was 5'3 her whole life, and I never got to see her once I’d finally grown taller than her. In my mind, she’ll always be tall enough for me to press my cheek into her belly when we hug. If I saw her today, the top of her head would rest under the tuck of my chin.
If she were alive, I would hug her. I would hold her hand, and beg her to tell me the truth of her life. I’d cherish showing her how I’ve grown, I’d introduce her to my boyfriend, I’d sing her a song, as she’d asked me to at her 70th birthday, and I hadn’t. I would sing for her for hours. I would languish in every note as an apology.
I would do all of that, and I sure as hell wouldn’t post her on Instagram. I would just live, and love my grandmother, one last time.
