What follows is the text of a piece I wrote to share at her funeral service. It is long, so I cut out a few sections when I spoke, but I include all of it here for those that would like to hear some of the ways she shaped me into the person I am today.
When I was three years old and my brother was being born, my
grandma came to help take care of me.
She had never been to McDonald’s on her own before, had no idea even how
to order, and could not believe I wanted to have a Filet O’fish. But that day, I had my Filet O’Fish. It was small acts of heroism and devotion like this that
marked my entire life as my grandmother’s granddaughter.
On Saturday, when I knew that she was gravely ill, I went
through the drive thru and ordered and ate a filet o’fish in her honor.
Nearly everyone
that met Grandma remembered her vividly and fondly. Even friends of mine who have only met her once or twice,
briefly, ask about her with true interest to this day. She was kind, sparkling,
loyal, gentle, a force. She was an
excellent listener and speaker, and one of the strongest people I know.
She persevered, though not quietly, through many moments of
true hardship throughout her life.
A child of the Great Depression, she later became a young war bride
raising her first child in the absence of her dear and beloved husband. She lost siblings and parents. Later in
life, when she became a widow and was forced into a life on her own, she did
not do it without complaining, but neither did she shrink away from it, With
the encouragement and support of her family, she made good friends and built
happy memories in several homes after she left the one on Bedford Street where
she built a life and family. Even
after the fire at Laurel View destroyed her home and possessions, which surely
could have easily defeated many of her age, she continued on undaunted,
tackling multiple heart attacks and other health concerns. The women in my Monday night Bible
Study have been praying for Grandma off and on for nearly ten years now, and we
are always amazed at the way she has fought back again and again, never losing
her strong spirit and personality.
Speaking without a filter was not something that set only
late in life for her. She was
always quick to tell you exactly what she thought. I can still recall the time
she said to me “You’re getting a nice little butt on you there. I was always wanted one of those. My sisters had them, but I always just had
a chest.”
Yes, you always knew exactly what was on Grandma’s mind. Start a conversation with her one day
and get interrupted, a week later she would pick right back up where she left
off. I used to tell Mom that she
had an internal pause button. She
made sure everyone heard the same version of the story, too, nearly
verbatim. I believe she truly just
wanted to be sure each and every one of her people was included in the
conversation.
The lesson I take from my grandmother’s approach from life
is that it doesn’t do to swallow down the worst that it throws at you
silently. I remember walking along
with Grandma one time when bug landed directly on her chest. “Ack!” she exclaimed. “That bug just shit all over me!” Then she brushed it off and kept
walking. No, sometimes you’ve got
to yell about it a little, maybe have a cry to acknowledge that what you’re going
through downright stinks. Then
you’ve got to grab tight to those closest to you and figure out how to move on
to the next day. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll discover you’re a
little stronger and a little more able to handle whatever is to come.
Her devotion to each and every member of her family was
unparalleled. It was downright
embarrassing sometimes the way she bragged about “her gang.” At family
reunions, she’d always be counting up how many she had from her brood to
represent. At other gatherings,
she’d list off all who were able to make it, and those who weren’t. How blessed we were to be in the
strong beam of that fierce fierce love and pride.
(* I'm told I forgot to mention the strawberry jelly she made for everyone she knew loved it. I hear it was delicious. She knew I don't like cooked fruit, so I never got any. :))
Many of my best childhood memories took place with my
grandparents firmly in the scene.
Floating down the crick in inner tubes, riding bikes to Judy’s market
for a snack, collecting seashells early in the morning on a beach in South
Carolina, dying Easter eggs at their kitchen table, watching television in the
summer time furniture arrangement of their living room. In my memory, Barney Miller or Hogan’s
Heroes are always on. The cousins
always woke my grandparents by jumping in their bed far earlier than she would
have gotten up on her own.
Playing Fox in the Morning in their driveway. Drinking orange
and lemon or grape and lemon by the glassful. Christmases piled high with gifts, the largest pile usually
square in front of Grandma.
Playing game after game of UNO, 500 Rummy and dominoes on long winter
evenings. Collecting pinecones in cemeteries,
or playing among the gravestones as Grandma and Pap took care of flowers for
ancestors. Spending time on Aunt
Jo-Ann’s porch with kittens.
When I first used Dreft detergent to wash clothes for my
babies, I was transported immediately to the warmth of a big claw footed tub,
where Grandma used to sprinkle soap flakes when we took baths.
My grandparents, along with my parents, were my first models
of what a good marriage can and should be. Did they bicker?
Yes. But they were both
verbally and physically affectionate with one another. I can still remember her giggling and
telling him that his whiskers were too scratchy to be kissing her, though not
too convincingly. It was always
clear they not only loved each other, but also truly liked one another, as well
as understood each other. What a strong testament to the family they built
together that their children and their children’s children still make a point
to get together for a week’s vacation together each year. There are so few extended families that
know each other the way we do in today’s fractured and geographically separated
culture.
Though Grandma’s failing eyesight has kept her from being
able to send cards for a while now, it seems impossible that I will no longer
be attempting to decipher a long newsy note from her written on the inside of a
greeting card. I’ve been reading
her writing for as long as I can remember, on cards and in postcards, or
reporting the day’s events and weather on the calendar hanging across from the
toilet at the cottage. She truly
was my first and most influential model of one who writes. She used to tell me that in school, her
favorite thing was to write “themes.”
Of the possessions she lost in the fire, the ones I mourned most were
the journals she kept of her trips to Florida and other travels.
As a wife,
mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and friend, Grandma made all of the people in
her life feel particularly valued.
I once bought a framed print for her that said, “If you love me and
spoil me, you must be my grandma.”
That clearly summed up all the ways she went out of her way to make me
feel treasured and special. It is
difficult to convey how wonderful it was to be the object of such sincere and
devoted love, to have someone in your life be such a firm and clear member of
your own personal fan club.
At the cottage,
she always got the top bunk above her and Pap’s bed ready for me with the
reading light plugged in so I could stay up late to read and read. She knew,
more than anyone except my mom, all of my allergies and food sensitivities.
There was always a tin of banberry tarts without nuts just for me, or a bowl of
five-cup salad without the pineapple.
She was absolutely the only person on earth who peeled the skin off of every
piece of sliced apple for me, and cut and peeled each section of orange so that
there was not one speck of white pith to make me cough as I ate it.
In this room, especially, I do not think I am alone in the feeling
of being the one most special to my grandmother. She had the ability to turn her sparkling, twinkly eyes on
each person she met and make them feel just as special. I think the way my grandmother brought
beauty and love to so many lives is a rare gift we are all so blessed to have
received. That’s why I know that the
next time you play a game of cards or dominoes, eat a particularly good piece
of cake, drink a good glass of orange juice over ice, find a hankie in your
pocket, or wear something in that lovely shade of red she preferred, she will
be with you, her distinctive voice in your ear, and her soft hand on your arm.
