Grandma B
My grandmother B died suddenly Wednesday morning. I’ve waited a few days to post for a few reasons. One, simply not being in any condition to do so- I’ve taken her death hard. Two, to really gather my thoughts. I don’t know ultimate cause of death, but it was less than 6 months after her husband, my grandpa B died. Not that they weren’t distinct, well-defined people, but growing up, Grandma and Grandpa were always a pair in my mind, a symbiosis of sorts. With well over 50 years of marriage, it’s no surprise they complimented each other so well. Even when they were exasperated with one another, it was obvious they loved to one another.
I was driving home today, and I found myself thinking about time, and meaning of life, and all of the big things death causes us to stop and take notice of. When I think of my grandparents lives, I think of them as being full of life and love and well-lived. Well-lived in a small little town in Pennsylvania, not far from where either grew up. Quietly, more or less. I’ve been trying to understand this impression of what makes life well-lived, and I think I understand now.
There’s a fable of a broken pocket watch, that when it was brought to the watchmaker for repair, requested to never be fixed, because it was overwhelmed by the thought of ticking and ticking, day after day, year after year- the notion was wearisome and too exhausting to contemplate. To this, the watchmaker told the pocket watch not to constantly think ahead, but to focus instead on doing it’s very best with each tick, and the rest would take care of itself. I realize now that’s what my grandparents did. They focused on doing their best within every day they lived.
Grandma B was the daughter of a minister, and both of her brothers also became ministers. Although grandma went to college, majoring in German, I always knew her as a career housewife and mother and grandmother. She created incredible meals and desserts and made it seem like no work at all, clothes and holiday decorations and tablecloths and any craft you can imagine from scratch. She also created a house full of unconditional love for all who entered it, day after day, year after year, as reliably and consistently as the changing of the seasons.
Grandma B was someone you wanted to grow up to be like, and is one of the most gentle-spirited and big-hearted people I’ve ever known. She was a Sunday school teacher for years. She was a bereavement coordinator for her church, preparing meals for families after the burial services. She was the wife of a soldier in the South Pacific for World War II. She risked her life carrying my uncle Bill to term. With my grandfather, she adopted my sister’s best friend Nicole as an honorary grandchild, celebrating birthdays, and bringing a third set of crafts on visits, and attending her swim team meets (a swim team picture is still on their refrigerator years later) and Nicole’s graduation picture is displayed proudly on the wall with all the other grandchildren.
Grandma also traveled around the country a bit and had a particular love for Yellowstone National Park. She liked to sit on the porch in the early morning and take in nature. She read constantly, devouring book after book. She spent hours and hours of time with all of her grandchildren, really listening to us and supporting us and teaching us crafts. She was at every major event in our lives, every play or recital or graduation. And of course, she had a good sense of humor, a necessary key to living amicably with my grandfather.
I can only hope to live a life as giving and full of love as hers, or to excel even half as much at what I choose to do with my life.
I was driving home today, and I found myself thinking about time, and meaning of life, and all of the big things death causes us to stop and take notice of. When I think of my grandparents lives, I think of them as being full of life and love and well-lived. Well-lived in a small little town in Pennsylvania, not far from where either grew up. Quietly, more or less. I’ve been trying to understand this impression of what makes life well-lived, and I think I understand now.
There’s a fable of a broken pocket watch, that when it was brought to the watchmaker for repair, requested to never be fixed, because it was overwhelmed by the thought of ticking and ticking, day after day, year after year- the notion was wearisome and too exhausting to contemplate. To this, the watchmaker told the pocket watch not to constantly think ahead, but to focus instead on doing it’s very best with each tick, and the rest would take care of itself. I realize now that’s what my grandparents did. They focused on doing their best within every day they lived.
Grandma B was the daughter of a minister, and both of her brothers also became ministers. Although grandma went to college, majoring in German, I always knew her as a career housewife and mother and grandmother. She created incredible meals and desserts and made it seem like no work at all, clothes and holiday decorations and tablecloths and any craft you can imagine from scratch. She also created a house full of unconditional love for all who entered it, day after day, year after year, as reliably and consistently as the changing of the seasons.
Grandma B was someone you wanted to grow up to be like, and is one of the most gentle-spirited and big-hearted people I’ve ever known. She was a Sunday school teacher for years. She was a bereavement coordinator for her church, preparing meals for families after the burial services. She was the wife of a soldier in the South Pacific for World War II. She risked her life carrying my uncle Bill to term. With my grandfather, she adopted my sister’s best friend Nicole as an honorary grandchild, celebrating birthdays, and bringing a third set of crafts on visits, and attending her swim team meets (a swim team picture is still on their refrigerator years later) and Nicole’s graduation picture is displayed proudly on the wall with all the other grandchildren.
Grandma also traveled around the country a bit and had a particular love for Yellowstone National Park. She liked to sit on the porch in the early morning and take in nature. She read constantly, devouring book after book. She spent hours and hours of time with all of her grandchildren, really listening to us and supporting us and teaching us crafts. She was at every major event in our lives, every play or recital or graduation. And of course, she had a good sense of humor, a necessary key to living amicably with my grandfather.
I can only hope to live a life as giving and full of love as hers, or to excel even half as much at what I choose to do with my life.