(Photo: My grandparents on their wedding day in 1946.)
Two and a half years ago, our family packed up the only life we've ever lived and moved from Michigan to Colorado into the mountains of the unknown. It was the biggest faith step we've ever taken as a family. We brought with us all of our earthly possessions, treasures, hopes, dreams, and the sweetest gift of all, my grandma.
Grandma had never lived more than 15 miles from her childhood home. She was surrounded by the clay-clumped farm land of Indiana her entire life. We asked her to move to Colorado with us to the land of blue skies and mountains and sunshine. Without hesitation, she agreed. At 86 years old, she was up for one of the biggest adventures of her lifetime. I will always admire my grandma for making such a brave move into the far-off-distance with us.
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During the last week of her life, Grandma stayed at a Hospice residence. As she fell into an end-of-life sleep, my parents, my children, my husband, and I surrounded her. We spoke beauty-words over her. We prayed. We wept. We held her hands and caressed her cheeks. We filled the room with the love that she first gave to us.
A nurse entered the room to administer morphine to insure that Grandma was comfortable and pain-free. We spoke in hushed tones. Then she asked, "What did she do for a living?"
I fumbled around trying to answer the question that caught me slightly off guard. How could what Grandma did for a living explain all of the wonderful and beautiful that she was to us? The only thing that came out was, "She worked in a factory for thirty years." {Face-palm!} It was definitely true, but good grief. How in the world would that ever sum up my grandma... my gentle, sweet, like-a-mother-to-me grandma?
My mom chimed in and said, "She was a farmer's wife. She stayed home to raise her children and help my dad on the farm. When her children were raised, then she went to work in a factory." {Whew! Thank you, Mom!}
While my mom's words helped paint a more accurate picture of my grandma, I still felt there was a bit of a gap... my gap... the last 42 years of my grandma's life, the part of her life that I was in. What did she do for a living? I can attest to the last half of her quietly amazing life, because my life was changed and bettered because she was in it.
My grandma protected me to the best of her ability from my alcoholic, abusive father's drunken rages. It was my grandma who sneaked into my bedroom in the middle of the night and swept me safely away cocooned in her arms and my pink fuzzy blanket. She was a haven for me. When I was sick with sore throat after sore throat, cough after cough, my grandma nursed me to health. I can still hear her holler in her sing-song voice across the summer breeze from her yard to mine, "Yoo Hoo! Suzie!" (Suzie was her personal nickname for me when I was little.) I would run to her as fast as I could, thrilled that she was outside, thrilled that she wanted me, thrilled that she called to me. We would plant and tend her breathtaking flower beds together. She taught me how to bake her mother's best recipes. Most Friday nights I spent the night at my grandparents' house. I would climb into bed with them cozy and fall asleep watching Dallas or Johnny Carson. When I was with them, I knew I was safe.
My grandma gave me opportunities to flourish. She signed me up for gymnastics lessons, swimming lessons, and piano lessons. Every single Saturday for two years she faithfully drove me to the YMCA to learn to swim and learn to tumble. On my ninth birthday, she and my Grandpa took me shopping for a piano on which I am teaching my own children how to play today. My grandparents both made sure I went to church, and despite the dark circumstance in my own home, their home was a light.
When I was an awkward fifth grader, Grandma took me shopping. She
bought me my first pair of Nikes, my first pair of jeans, and my first
Izod polo shirt. She was always tender and sensitive to my heart and the
needs of an adolescent girl growing up like a fish out of water. She survived {wink, wink} my great big 80's hair, and my college boyfriend with equally big hair, ripped jeans, and an electric guitar. Grandma saw through the outer layer and always had a way of seeing the heart. She and Grandpa always came to support anything and everything I ever did. They were my biggest cheerleaders.
Ripped jeans, guitar playing hero and I wanted to go on a trip to visit his sister, who at the time lived in Florida. My alcoholic father loathed the idea and tried to control our relationship. My gentle, quiet grandmother had a spark in her eye. I think she felt eighteen years of being controlled and abused was enough, and the next day she bought the plane ticket for me to fly to Florida. That trip was a game-changer for me, and I think Grandma knew it would be. Eight months later, I walked down the aisle to my forever hero, my true rescuer from my broken upbringing. But, before my Ironman there was my Grandma... the true heroine of my childhood. She helped keep me as steady and protected as she could through my tumultuous and horrific upbringing. She helped get me as safely as she could, with thousands of humble prayers and God's help, to another life.
She supported me, my Ironman, my kids, our calling to minister and lead others, and our calling to homeschool our children. She supported my ragamuffin writing on this tiny blog. (I write that in tears, because I had been working on a piece for my blog to honor her that I wanted to show her, but her last days were lightning fast and she went Home before I had the chance.) She was proud of who I was and who I had become. Without her, I would not be me. I would not have survived and I know it. Grandma was reticent and softhearted, and most wouldn't know what a champion she was. But isn't that the way of it? Most real heroes are the quiet ones, and most real warriors are behind the scenes. That was my grandma.
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"What did she do for a living?"
She loved, and she prayed. She was patient, and she was kind. She wept. She laughed. She smiled at friends. She smiled at strangers. She sang in the choir. She helped farm the land, and she helped farm this girl. She worked faithfully in a dusty old factory, and she treasured her husband. She invested her time. She invested herself. She invested her heart. She cared. She gave. She saved.
She saved.
She saved me...
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Thank you, Grandma. I will miss you every single day for the rest of my life.
(Photo: My grandma with my children on her 88th birthday.)
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All is grace... Always grace,
