Originally posted 10/31/2020
I have so much to write about my sweet grandmother, but in the past few weeks, I have found myself at a loss for words. How do you summarize such a long, full and meaningful life? How do you properly honor the memory of someone so dear? There are so many stories that are swirling in my mind as I think of her, remember her, and try to make sense of how a life so well lived could end the way it did—dark, struggling to breathe and alone. The biggest ache of the difficulties of this year for me is that she was alone. We knew, and we couldn’t be there.
But, that is not her legacy. Her life well lived need not be remembered by the last few dark hours. I wanted to be there for her—but I also wanted to be there for me. Thankfully, that fact doesn’t change the years that I had with her, the memories that we made, and the stories I have to tell.
When my grandfather first passed away, Grandmom and I talked a lot about how she was coping with him being gone. She wrote about it in much of the writing she did in the few years following his passing. She took writing classes offered by a woman she went to church with to help her to put her thoughts into words. There were moments we were talking when she asked me if I thought she was crazy as she described those late night and early morning moments between sleeping and waking that she saw him, felt him, smelled his aftershave. She told me that they talked sometimes—because she needed him to help her figure out how to do things on her own. When it came time for her to move into town, while she knew that it was the right choice because she couldn’t take care of the house and land on her own, she told me that she was afraid that he wouldn’t come with her. But, of course, he did. Memories of him traveled with her everywhere. Talking with him continued to help her navigate all the new things she was dealing with after he passed.
In the last few years of her life, her stories were a mix of sweet memories and frustration. She missed him so much, continued to share more and more stories of their life together, and she told me that it was never their plan for one of them to grow old alone. They did everything together—aging and end of life were supposed to be included. She also talked about how the journey through his illness and death and learning how to live life alone strengthened her faith in and reliance on God. She was honest about her sadness, hurt, and at times anger over being alone—but she also knew that she wasn’t truly alone. God was with her and was strengthening her and equipping her through the process. She talked about growing in ways that she never thought she would. Grandpop, though he was a man of faith, never felt comfortable in church. He was self-conscious over his lack of formal education and was not one who liked small talk or interacting in groups. Grandmom enjoyed getting involved in her church when she moved to town; helping in the office, going to Bible studies, and taking the writing classes. She helped with the church bazaar, went to women’s groups (which she called “widows’ groups” as they were all older and had all lost their husbands), and helped with the annual apple butter making day. It was a part of her that she hadn’t grown or developed much in her adult life.
Legacy is a strange thing with so many parts. The good, the bad, the lovely, and the ugly all have their place and play a part. As Kermit the Frog (the best Bob Cratchit of all time) says, “Life is full of meetings and partings; that is the way of it.” The times in between make the parting so difficult and the memories so sweet. There will never be enough words, and words will never be enough.
Thanks for reading! 😊 EW