grandma
On Sunday, March 12, 2006, my Grandma died. And while we kind of knew it was going to happen soon, it was still pretty tough. I've been thinking about Mom a lot lately because she was very close to grandma. Kind of like best friends, which is a pretty beautiful thing.
Every Sunday after church for years, we'd go over to Grandma's house for lunch. And we'd always spend most of the day there after eating the best food. It was the kind of thing where you ate so much you felt like your belly would split open. She always had mashed potatoes (and they were so smooth and creamy and I'll never know how she got all the lumps out) with the thickest and tastiest gravy, and she'd make broccoli with cheese sauce (which was my absolute favourite), and always some kind of meat - sometimes a roast, or a chicken, or this great meat pie that was amazing when you poured gravy all over the crispy crust... Yup, it was all very nice. And there were rolls, and she would put out pickles on this little ceramic dish with a handle that could easily be passed around. And candles would be lit in the center of the table which would burn down thru the meal and, at the end, would be extinguished with this classy little candle snuffer. And when we'd finish eating, we'd run to the TV room where Grandpa would watch curling or golf, and we'd play card games (ie. war), or build card houses, or roll around on the little footstools they had. And when Grandma had cleaned up (usually with Mom and Dad's help) she'd come join us by the TV. Of course, in summertime we'd go outside to climb the crab apple tree and sometimes help pick the tiny apples so Grandpa could make jam. Or we'd run around playing tag, or stealing raspberries off the front bushes.
Grandma was born today, 97 years ago (March 22, 1909), in Sheffield, England. When she was 2, her family moved to Canada. They lived on a little homestead out near Ashern, and later moved to the city, where Grandma started working at Great West Life. That's where she met Grandpa. They were married in 1941. Later, Mom was born, and a bit later after that she met Dad, and they got married. (Of course, I'm summarizing a bit, just hitting the big stuff, which I don't like to do, but I will for the sake of space.) I say all this to try to remember the scope of Grandma's life. The changes she saw in the world were enormous. She had this wonderful way of just being (at least in the eyes of her grandchild - me), and she would keep up with news, do crossword puzzles, play cards, and on and on.
I dunno. I guess I'm just really glad that Grandma was my grandma. It feels right to tell everyone, and just say that I loved her. And it's hard to say goodbye. In some ways it just feels like it's done, but I think it's one of those things where the people you know, who come into your life, tend to stay there. You don't forget. And the best way of remembering is to keep on going with them in mind.
She was the last of the grandparents to die, the last of my parents' parents. That itself feels like the end of an era. These thots run around my mind (not as rampantly as last week, but still, they bump around), and I like to think of them in some beautiful banquet hall, with tall candle sticks and simple, good food. And the windows are open and the warm air is blowing in scents of summer. And they sit and talk and laugh, and they glory in it. This is what I like to think.
For the funeral, which was last Thursday, Steve and Alyssa and I were asked if we would write something for the back of the bulletins. I wrote:
When I think about Grandma, I think of simple and profound love. I don't remember when or why, but one time when I was sick, years ago, I went to stay at Grandma's house for the weekend. She made me a little bed on the good couch in the living room, and made me the best kind of "sick food," like chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I remember I had to take these big, white, powdery pills and I just couldn't swallow them. So when pill time came, Grandma would crush the pills up and smother the powder in syrup. Then she would bring me this brimming spoonful of medicinal sweetness. I guess this is how I often think of Grandma, not just on this one weekend, but all the time. She didn't deny the sickness or the bitter medicine, but she made taking it a little bit sweeter, through her generosity and comforting presence, and always her love.
Every Sunday after church for years, we'd go over to Grandma's house for lunch. And we'd always spend most of the day there after eating the best food. It was the kind of thing where you ate so much you felt like your belly would split open. She always had mashed potatoes (and they were so smooth and creamy and I'll never know how she got all the lumps out) with the thickest and tastiest gravy, and she'd make broccoli with cheese sauce (which was my absolute favourite), and always some kind of meat - sometimes a roast, or a chicken, or this great meat pie that was amazing when you poured gravy all over the crispy crust... Yup, it was all very nice. And there were rolls, and she would put out pickles on this little ceramic dish with a handle that could easily be passed around. And candles would be lit in the center of the table which would burn down thru the meal and, at the end, would be extinguished with this classy little candle snuffer. And when we'd finish eating, we'd run to the TV room where Grandpa would watch curling or golf, and we'd play card games (ie. war), or build card houses, or roll around on the little footstools they had. And when Grandma had cleaned up (usually with Mom and Dad's help) she'd come join us by the TV. Of course, in summertime we'd go outside to climb the crab apple tree and sometimes help pick the tiny apples so Grandpa could make jam. Or we'd run around playing tag, or stealing raspberries off the front bushes.
Grandma was born today, 97 years ago (March 22, 1909), in Sheffield, England. When she was 2, her family moved to Canada. They lived on a little homestead out near Ashern, and later moved to the city, where Grandma started working at Great West Life. That's where she met Grandpa. They were married in 1941. Later, Mom was born, and a bit later after that she met Dad, and they got married. (Of course, I'm summarizing a bit, just hitting the big stuff, which I don't like to do, but I will for the sake of space.) I say all this to try to remember the scope of Grandma's life. The changes she saw in the world were enormous. She had this wonderful way of just being (at least in the eyes of her grandchild - me), and she would keep up with news, do crossword puzzles, play cards, and on and on.
I dunno. I guess I'm just really glad that Grandma was my grandma. It feels right to tell everyone, and just say that I loved her. And it's hard to say goodbye. In some ways it just feels like it's done, but I think it's one of those things where the people you know, who come into your life, tend to stay there. You don't forget. And the best way of remembering is to keep on going with them in mind.
She was the last of the grandparents to die, the last of my parents' parents. That itself feels like the end of an era. These thots run around my mind (not as rampantly as last week, but still, they bump around), and I like to think of them in some beautiful banquet hall, with tall candle sticks and simple, good food. And the windows are open and the warm air is blowing in scents of summer. And they sit and talk and laugh, and they glory in it. This is what I like to think.
For the funeral, which was last Thursday, Steve and Alyssa and I were asked if we would write something for the back of the bulletins. I wrote:
When I think about Grandma, I think of simple and profound love. I don't remember when or why, but one time when I was sick, years ago, I went to stay at Grandma's house for the weekend. She made me a little bed on the good couch in the living room, and made me the best kind of "sick food," like chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I remember I had to take these big, white, powdery pills and I just couldn't swallow them. So when pill time came, Grandma would crush the pills up and smother the powder in syrup. Then she would bring me this brimming spoonful of medicinal sweetness. I guess this is how I often think of Grandma, not just on this one weekend, but all the time. She didn't deny the sickness or the bitter medicine, but she made taking it a little bit sweeter, through her generosity and comforting presence, and always her love.
posted by chris at 15:35
5 Comments:
Thanks so much for your post, Chris. We need people who can write well to express for us what we would express if we could. I found myself 'remembering' your story as though it were my own.
Phil
Canzona is performing Brahms' Requiem on Saturday April 1 @ 7:00 at Westminster United Church. (no orchestra, but two pianists will be accompanying). wanna go?
*hugs* ..on the loss of your grandma.
Reading this post makes me wish I had met her :)
i'd been thinking about waiting until you posted again to comment,
subject matter and all..
but a few days passed
and was able to justify it for myself
that leaving a comment of greeting
and an extended arm of curiosity into your life now,
would not be inappropriate.
chris.
how are you?
i was happy when i stumbled accross your piece of the intenet.
and remembering, as i read through some of your posts, the bumblebee poem, which i think was by whitman,
and how its still somewhere with the folders of my email system.
right now my ears really hurt because the wind was blowing as i rode my bike home. i did not protect them.
This was beautiful Chris. Reading it made me feel like I was at home, like I was there eating grilled cheese sandwiches and that part of my life was lost on March 12, 2006.
Colter
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