5.04.2007

Grandma is ushering in the end times.

She was a spectacular woman. Determined and full of fire. She'd meet you at the porch door after the long drive into the country, and you knew that, if you were patient and played outside for a while, there'd be a Dr Pepper party coming along soon.

She'd tell you to stand up tall and be proud of your height, and she'd snap at you if you had your hand in your mouth or near your eyes. Germs were for the foolish and lazy.

When the food was ready, she'd ring the dinner bell and cry out in her singular manner. A cry that could also be heard coming down from the bleachers, over everybody and everything else, while you stood on the football field in the middle of the game.

She was proud of her heritage, of her family's past, but she was even prouder of its future. She made me laugh like no one else. She had feisty one-liners and sometimes they stung.

She'd hold you tight in her hug and start to tickle your sides, but then she'd squeeze your hand and, with a serious look, tell you how much you meant to her and how she was so proud of you, of all her bunch.

Her singing voice was direct and unflappable, and she'd take the bass line. She'd volunteer you for anything and have the utmost confidence that you would make it a smashing success.

She liked dogs and cared little for cats.
She loved her great-grandchildren. She had no patience for whiners.

She had traveled the world but was more than content to be living in the sparse expanse between Sedan and Amistad. Come summer, she was moving into town.

She'd pat your friends on the behind upon introduction, and you'd expectantly wait for that look of surprise to suddenly appear on their face.

She loved a man fiercely for over fifty years, and they were a balanced pair. She loved him even after he died, and she tried to keep real flowers at his grave, but nothing stays alive in that summer heat.

Her hair was thick, and her eyes sparked. Her faith was strong.

She would always say how lucky she was to be in this family.

But we knew we were the lucky ones.

3 comments:

Ashley said...

Wonderful, wonderful post. I'm so sorry, love.

Anonymous said...

I am at your site today, because I was looking for this about Grandma. I miss her so much! =(

Thanks...
Sarah

d.a.vid's little helper said...

I do too.