So guess who is in the hospital again? No, not little Sammy (thank goodness), it's my grandma... in the hospital again. She is almost 88 years old, born in 1921, so she's been here a long time, and done a lot of things. Her body is wearing out and that is just what happens when you live to nearly 88 years of age. So while I want to sit around all day crying about the fact that sooner or later she's not going to be here to answer my phone calls, or to patiently show me how to end my knitting, again, I'm going to blog instead.
Since I am her oldest grandchild, I've been able to spend lots of time with my grandma. Even though my grandparents lived in another state my entire childhood, my parents made several trips each year to visit them. We were always excited to visit my grandparents, but it was Grandpa who really got the "hero worship" early on. If he was home, he would wait for our arrival outside in their long gravel driveway, his pockets full of candy. He called me Kimilee and my brother B.C. which stood for Baby Clark, but then was later changed to C.B. (Clarky Boy) after much insistence from my brother that he was a big boy now! Grandma was never out to greet us in the driveway, or to take us for ice creams after dinner, that was Grandpa. Grandpa was the one who pushed us in the swing, took us to the chicken coop to gather eggs, or to the dairy to buy milk. Grandpa let us ride with him on his old riding lawn mower, made up bedtime stories for us, and held barbecues at Butte Ridge (a made-up location from his stories that was actually the fire pit in the backyard). Grandpa would take time away from one of his two or three jobs to spend with us while we were there. Later when there were more of us, and more nicknames to make up, more kids to vie for his attention, that was when I started to notice what Grandma was up to. Grandma was up early every morning. I noticed the reason she was never waiting in the driveway for us was because she was busy making something for us to eat in the kitchen. While Grandpa was pushing the swings, Grandma was weeding the garden or picking raspberries for our lunch. In the afternoons when we were hot and tired from playing outside with Grandpa, I noticed Grandma was inside working on her sewing or knitting of future Christmas gifts. If we were lucky enough to visit during early fall, Grandma would be busy all day with her canning and pie making. The older I got, the more she would let me help her with these things, and the more I learned about Grandma. One visit, Grandma had purchased a canvas, some paint brushes, and paint, it was time for me to learn about oil painting. Grandma is a fabulous artist, and she wanted to share her talent and knowledge with me. One visit, she said it was time for me to learn to make pie crusts, another visit it was freezer jam. Next I learned to crochet, then to knit, and sew. I learned how to make a bed properly from my grandma, how to make those hospital corners. I learned how to hang laundry on a line, how to grow a garden, make food from scratch, and "do-it-yourself."
I was born in love with my kind, gentle, permissive grandpa. The kind of intense, unabashed love that makes you cling to that person without shame, knowing they will return your affection, but not exploit it. When Grandpa left us so suddenly and without warning, I fell apart, I couldn't imagine life without him. What Grandpa gave me was everything I needed as a child... unconditional love, and I still miss it so much. With Grandpa gone, things changed with Grandma too. I wasn't just her student anymore, in my mind, I needed to step up a little bit and try to give back to her. She had given me, after all, everything she felt was important for me to carry on. And I wasn't a child anymore. In fact I had a child of my own by then, who needed to know his great grandmother, who needed to learn from her. But Grandma wasn't finished teaching me. She taught me how to pick up the pieces, how to start a new life, how to find a new purpose. She taught me that happiness is something we work on each day, and that we don't stop worrying about our kids and grand kids, no matter how old they are. She taught me that even the people we look up to, our heroes, are not perfect, make mistakes, have regrets, and that is okay. And, she started teaching my kids all those things she feels are important for us to keep, to carry on. And I love my grandma, with everything I possess, with all my heart. My Grandpa taught me a lot about being loved, Grandma taught me what love is. Grandma showed me that Grandpa can still be here with me as long as I keep him that way, if I take what he gave me, and I keep teaching it to my kids, grand kids, great grand kids, and teach them to pass it forward. And because I love my grandpa, and because I love my grandma, I will do it. Not just the crocheting, the knitting, the pies, or the stories about Trigger and Pal on Butte Ridge. I'll pass on their stories, their legacy. I'll do my best anyway. It won't be exactly the same, it never is, but it will hopefully be beautiful, and worthwhile, and maybe one day they will stand together and look at all of it from where they are, and be happy that they can be where they are, but still be here with us too.
The latest lesson my grandma taught me was today. We were talking on the phone, me at home, she in a hospital bed. After giving a brief explanation of what she is dealing with, she needed to know how I am doing and how the plans for my winter in Arizona are going. I told her I've nearly chickened out several times in the past couple of weeks. Why? She wondered. Because I fear the unknown, I lack confidence in myself and my ability to do this on my own. "Yes" she said, "I've been having some anxiety about the unknown lately myself." I remember wishing after Grandpa died that each person who loved her could take a little piece of her grief away so that it would be easier for her to bear it. I found myself wishing the same today about her fears and anxieties for her future, if each of us could just take a piece of it away from her, wouldn't that lighten her load. I guess that is what we are trying to do when we tell another that they will be in our thoughts and prayers. Today Grandma taught me that we are all in this together. And that maybe she can forget about her own problems a little easier, by carrying concern for ours. You can bet that while I am finding my way this winter in a strange place surrounded by challenges and new experiences, that I will be thinking about my grandma, and how if she can be strong, she'll be expecting nothing less of me.
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