Parting with Grandma B

There are so many things that I do not know about my grandmother, things that would be fun to know, things that would give me a more complete picture of the unique and wonderful person she was. But there are some things that I do know about my grandmother that are significant in that they shaped her life and in turn, have had a ripple effect on my own life story.

I know that my grandma didn’t like her name Leila. She preferred to go by Lee. I thought Leila was a lovely name and considered it for my daughter… but Grandma was firm, even adamant that no one should have the name LEILA. It was difficult for others to read and pronounce; it was fussy. She didn’t like a FUSS to be made. In fact, I’m pretty sure that when we talked about what would happen when she passed away she used the words, “I don’t want a big fuss.”

I know that my grandmother loved my grandfather… dearly, with a sweet and enduring love. They held hands regularly and often, so much so that it I was ashamed to realize that even as a newlywed they outdid me in gestures of adoration. Grandma would sit on Grandpa’s lap. They would finish each other’s sentences. They worked crossword puzzles together every day. They were generous toward each other. Their interactions were laced with kindnesses and tenderness.
Grandma taught me lessons of love by how she loved Grandpa. She spoke of him highly, which taught me respect for my husband, to speak well of him and believe well of him. I learned from her that I should be lavish in affection toward my husband. She instilled in me a strong belief that the little things I do now, even seemingly small things like holding hands and kissing goodbye, will strengthen my marriage.

I know that my grandmother valued family. Because I have little ones fairly close in age, we talked many times of when her first four children (one each year!) were young. She made it sounds as if it were not difficult. In fact, she SAID it wasn’t hard! She gave credit to Grandpa for helping out and told me that he would come home on his lunch break and give all the kids baths. She told me that it was a sweet time and fun and how quickly it went. Although I often feel buffeted by a world that values work above homemaking, my grandmother taught me differently.

It was grandma who taught me that it’s okay to let the baby cry. When I was anxiously watching over the crib side of my firstborn, she reminded me that I ought to rest when the baby rested. So we checked our watches and chatted while Owen settled himself down for a nap. It was my grandma, in her seventies, who came to assist me after my two boys were born. She preferred for Grandpa to drive, so drove two hours in to our home and dropped her off. She sweetly parted with Grandpa and quickly set herself to work about my house, doing dishes, folding laundry, even getting down on her hands and knees to scrub marks off my floor (marks I had conveniently been ignoring)! In this she taught me service to others and a cheerful willingness to work without compensation. Not only this, but these times were laced with long conversations about life and family and faith. It was during these times when my grandmother’s help was so needed that I grew to value her as a confidant and friend.

My grandma loved babies and children. She would quickly take a baby or toddler from my arms and head off somewhere to explore or read a book or play a game. And my children couldn’t be in better hands. She read to children, played with children, VALUED children. She encouraged this love in me and I credit my grandma with giving me a high value of life and a view of childhood as precious.

I know that my Grandmother was a storyteller. I couldn’t even guess how many children have sat upon her knees or at her feet to hear her tell a story. She had a way of embellishing a story, of making it come alive. Once she came with me to the library when I took my little boys for storytime. When we left we were both shaking our heads because Grandma’s storytelling was far superior to the “professional” storyteller’s. Grandma B, with book in hand, was a kind of pied piper and children flocked to her.

I know my grandmother made some of the best pies I have ever eaten. She had a larger-than-life pie reputation. She told me once that she had been asked to record her recipes, to which she scoffed. “ANYbody” can make a pie, she said. And I realize the truth in her words. Even though her pies were delicious, better-than-ordinary. what is really outstanding about them is that she took the TIME to make them. She didn’t use special ingredients (though I know she used the best of local overly abundant produce and lard!). She took her time and used her energy to bake pies for others because it was an act of love. Delicious pies were the result of a woman who wasn’t too busy, who stayed at home, was content at home, whose quiet work benefited others. I see every savored bite of pie through the years as commendation of her extraordinary choice.

I know that my grandmother believed that staying active was important. I know so few adults besides my grandparents that continue working and golfing and vacationing well into their senior years. Not only that, but Grandpa still carries my children, Grandma would nimbly plunk down on the floor to play a game with them, we took many walks together. I learned from watching my grandparents that you are as old as you act and that staying active can keep you healthy.
She and Grandpa were simple and pleasant house guests, willing to bed down on the floor on an air mattress when they were in their eighties! They “didn’t need much,” she would say. My husband and I learned that it was easy to host them as long as we had coffee, ice cream, and somewhere to get a daily newspaper.

I know my grandmother loved the Lord. She and grandpa worked on Bible studies together. One of the last conversations I had with Grandma we spoke about her family. We were talking about raising children and I expressed how much I want my children to love Jesus. Grandma told me that she had GOOD kids. Her desire was that her entire family know the Lord. Not just to BE good, to but love the Source of goodness. Some of her last words were words entreating her children to pray with her. She wanted them near. She wanted them to know and love the Savior that she was going home to. She said she had a blessed life here and she was certain that her next life would be blessed, too, because she would be in Heaven.

I know that my grandma, in her unpretentious way, has left me missing her. I still find it uncomfortable to face my mortality as I grieve her death. Even though I knew my grandparents were aging, they didn’t seem to show it and so I could largely pretend that we would have years upon years to enjoy. Though I celebrate Grandma’s victorious passage from death to life eternal, I grieve the loss of those hoped for years. I mourn that I have no more opportunities to caress her hands or listen to her wisdom, nor to smile as my children sit on her lap and listen to her stories. I am sad for those of us who remain.

In the week before she died I looked at her lying on the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes. “Grandma!” I said. “I hope I look half as beautiful at 83 as you are! I don’t know how you manage to look so wonderful when you feel so terrible... but I want to be like you.” Oh, she thought that was phooey. But it was true. I want to have the beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit that my grandma had. I want to love extravagantly and also in small affections like my grandma did. I want to stay active, to serve others, to extend myself, to challenge myself to stay active (not BUSY!) both in mind and body, as my grandma did. One day, be it soon or long to come, Grandma B and I will have a joyful reunion. I know it.