Grandparents- Part 1

 “If you’re lucky enough to still have grandparents, visit them, cherish them and celebrate them while you can.” -Regina Brett

My maternal grandmother passed from this world in January.   She was the last of my living grandparents, and her passing came after a prolonged physical and mental deterioration which was difficult to watch, and I cannot imagine how hard it was for her to endure.  

I have had a life full of amazing grandparents.   I was lucky enough to know my Great Grandmother until I was in high school.  She was a woman of amazing love.  I think she may have been my first glimpse at the unconditional love we all seek in our lives, or at least as close to it as we get in this life.  She loved her Great Grandchildren, and my brother and I probably could have gotten away with nearly anything in her care.  

Time, however, slowly took my grandparents, as it is want to do.  Of the five grandparents I knew in my life, one was lost to a rare disease (really), one to a heart condition, one in a car accident, and 2 to just age.  I realize that I have felt every one of those losses in very real and different ways, and that those ways have a lot to do with the relationships I had with each grandparent.  

In some other writings, maybe I'll explore those different relationships, but for now, I just will say, I loved them each, I know they loved me, and one of the reasons I hope and believe in heaven is that I expect to be reunited with them on the other side of this life.   

For now, they are immortal in my memory.  The memory of a young boy sitting in an old Ford pickup with his grandfather- just watching drilling rigs for hours.   The memory of a teenage boy on adventures with his grandmother (who was the age I am now) hearing live music in a bar in Texas. The memory of young adult sitting in the kitchen with another grandmother helping her prepare a meal.   

Hundreds of memories.   Memories all full of love.  

I wrote the following poem when my Dad's mom died a few years ago.  The poem may be specific to her, but it definitely carries some feelings that spill over into my memories of all of them.  

I miss them.   

Grandmother

Is it odd that when I think of my father’s mother I think of the smell of breakfast? 

The aroma of frying sausage or bacon, home-made biscuits, and coffee. 

She told me once that she would like to know how many pounds of bacon and sausage 

She had put on that oval white checked white finish ceramic plate in 70+ years of breakfast

I used to sit with her in the kitchen- at the farm on an old metal step stool- yellow, I think, 

And then on an old chair in her “town house” kitchen. 

I could sit and watch my Grandmother cook for hours. 

She was meticulous. She was careful. She was precise. She was efficient. 

She was beautiful- an artist in her kitchen.

I would listen to her talk to those helping her, and eventually, she would let me help

Peeling and cutting potatoes that would go into a big black cast iron skillet with a cast aluminum lid

Stirring brown beans or greens

I’m not sure I ever felt more proud than when she liked something that I had cooked

So much food. So much care. 

So. Much. Love. 

I always thought of my Grandmother as a quiet woman

But after Grandaddy’s death, she seemed to find her voice

For many years, my wife and I stayed with her when the family got together

Cherished memories of her sitting and telling stories about her life

She would get the bread tin full of family photos and tell us stories about each picture-

Ancestors or events long gone, still vivid in her nearly perfect memory. 

Stories about being a girl in the dust bowl, cooking for broom corn harvest crews, chopping and picking cotton

Stories about planting orchards, one room houses, moving houses, and raising 6 girls and 4 boys

So much work. So much care. 

So. Much. Love

My Grandmother lived nearly 102 years and survived her husband and 2 of her 10 children

She survived more broken bones than anyone should ever have to- 

Bones brittle, I suppose, from age and the birth of her children. 

I never saw her take more than 1 Tylenol for pain. 

That sort of strength and resilience is incredible and rare

In her late 90’s, she was still living on her own, raising a garden in the back yard. 

Even when it was time to move to a facility where there would be more care 

She spent her days working puzzles with the other residents or doing exercise with the group. 

Until the last 4 weeks or so of her life she was mentally and physically strong- for 101

So much strength. So much grace. 

So. Much. Love.

The last time I saw my Grandmother in this life, she was ready. 

My uncle told the nurse he was worried because she was “finally acting her age”.

Even in that moment, her memory was strong. 

Her humor was intact. 

Her love for her family was real. 

The nurse asked her if she felt “down” or “depressed”. 

When Grandmother said “yes”, the Nurse asked why.

“Because I’m old, that’s why!” 

In that moment, when she looked at her sons, my father and my uncle,

She communicated so many things in those still beautiful eyes

“I love you.” 

“I’m proud of you.” 

“I have lived a full life, but I’m tired now.” 

“I’m ready”

So much pride. So much tired. 

So. Much. Love. 

4 weeks later, on a Tuesday morning, my Grandmother left us for the last time

Reunited with a century of people who left this world ahead of her. 

I’m glad she didn’t longer suffer. 

I’m glad she is now at permanent peace 

On a Saturday morning, we laid her to rest next to the love of her life

Surrounded by so many family and friends in that little country cemetery. 

8 surviving children, 19 grandchildren, a host of great grandchildren, 

Countless other family and friends

We sang a hymn, prayed a prayer, and said goodbye. 

So much life. So much legacy. 

So. Much. Love