My grandmother passed away a week before Trump’s inauguration. While I missed the Women’s March to celebrate her life, she is my guidepost for strong womanhood today. She is my Generation F.
One month before she passed away, my grandmother condemned me for not wearing lipstick. I was sitting at the edge of her hospital bed, running my fingers through her beautiful gray hair, when she pointed to her purse on the nightstand. She pulled out her beaded makeup case and placed it in my hand, motioning for me to gloss a layer of red lipstick over my heartbroken smile. There was no one quite like her. Even as she suffered from Parkinson’s and dementia, my tiwa never stopped being the fierce, lipstick-wearing grandmother who helped raise me.
She was one of a kind. She was known to place hexes on any driver who dared to cut her off. She always kept her nails long and manicured with a bright, orangey-red polish. She never left the house without her elegantly layered pearls or diamond earrings. She always set the table according to etiquette expert Emily Post and taught each of her grandchildren the purpose and preferred placement of each fork. She owned and managed a Western clothing store with cunning and business savvy. She placed hundred-dollar bills in plastic Easter eggs and hid them around the house during the holidays for her grandchildren, and later great-grandchildren, to find and save for college.
I grew up surrounded by strong women; my grandmother sat at the helm of our tribe. From my mom to my teenage cousins, my grandmother taught each of us how to define our own fierce version of being female. Sometimes the fierceness collided with big opinions and large personalities crescendoing at one of our large family dinners, but at least, because of her, the women in our family have big opinions and personalities to share with the world.