My grandpa, Poppie, kept the best scrapbooks I've ever seen. Those oversized thick, string bound books that come in a variety of blue and black, proudly wearing the word “Scrapbook” on front. I remember visiting his home and finding him at the the kitchen table, book open with a carefully cut out newspaper article or a recent photo of one of the granddaughters and the smell of rubber cement in the air. He and my aunt have recently been going through these countless books, reminiscing about their time as a family in Germany, California, then Tennessee.
My dad recently came to Columbus for a visit – we enjoyed some fine eateries and a Nashville Predators/Columbus Blue Jackets hockey game. He brought along some pieces of these scrapbooks including, but not limited to, some really great photos of me and my horse taken at the peak of my awkward stage. Seriously, peak. He also brought a letter my grandfather had written, and an old tape that had been saved from my grandparent's answering machine.
We sat and listened to a few messages – one from the local bank regarding their account, one from my mom about some vinegar, and several from fellow church members expressing their concern for my grandmother. Dad informed me that around this time, she had just been admitted to the hospital. Just as I began to tear up, a squeaky quiet voice began, “Hello grandma, I just wanted to say....” These introductions came about every third message. We listened as my four year old self would carefully go into detail about the reason I was calling and then end politely “and this is Lily Anne and my number is 775-1020,” just in case they had forgotten. Most of the messages were requesting permission to come over and bake cookies. My personal favorite was the one in which I sang the intro to Little Mermaid and ended with, “Thank you, that's all.” A few from my older sister: "Grandma, could you come pick us up? Mom and Dad are being sleepy heads." I followed with a call just to say "I love you," but the message was cut off with an urgent “um, I have to go now because I have to use the bathroom.”
They lived a convenient ten minutes from our house. My mom recalls countless occasions of Grandma showing up at our front door, smiling and saying “Lily called.” And off I went to bake cookies, or help her in the garden, or play dress up with their towel collection. They had the most wonderful Lazy Boy rocking chairs and a great backyard full of delicious berries that were consumed by my older sister and I on a regular basis. There was a basket of chewy candies on the very top shelf of the kitchen cabinets and the first thing grandma would do when we entered was lift us up to pick one out. She collected owls. These nocturnal birds of all shapes and sizes decorated the walls and shelves – I found this disturbing as a small child. There were three in particular that ranged in size like Russian stacking dolls – they were made from small sea shells and had piercing eyes that followed you as you rocked back and forth in the lazy boy.
The letter that dad brought had been typed by Poppie eleven years ago, seven years after my grandmother's death. I imagine it was very hard to write, but he did so with an evident peace.
“Talked with her and she responded very naturally, realizing that this might be the last time we would ever have communication with her. The next morning at 10:00 I went to her bedside, spoke her name, she opened her eyes briefly, squeezed her hand but response. So Dave, Mary, Carol and I camped outside the intensive care area for the rest of the day and night. One of us was allowed to be in the room with her. Her blood pressure had gone down; 35 over 15. No struggle whatsoever – never had any pain the whole time – the the line for her heartbeat was just a straight line, and she was with the Lord. We four gathered around her in bed in a circle – held both her hands and committed her to the Lord and his keeping. Now writing this on 2/17/1999 – on January29th, she has been with the Lord for seven years. Her one brother, Clifford, had com from Wisconsin to see her about three days before her death. We also brought Jennie and Lily in to see her briefly. She could not speak, so she wrote notes – have them under plastic in my scrapbook – some are quite humorous – strictly Gleneale right down to the end.”
Too young to understand, my sister and I kept ourselves occupied with our famous bubble letter drawings and wrote notes to grandma in the waiting room at the hospital. Our cousins came down from Michigan, and together we diligently worked on a note that collectively said “I love you” in the biggest, proudest bubble letters you'd ever seen. It took all six of us to hold it up, being held up by our parents, in front of her hospital bed. I didn't know why, but she couldn't speak, so we thought the letter would be best. She smiled big and mouthed “I love you.” Those were her last words to her six granddaughters, something my family has always seen as a blessing. Poppie's letter continued:
“Lily Anne was “grandma's girl” – were together often – would phone Gleneale often and say “Grandma, can you come over and get me?” They loved to bake cookies together. At the viewing, Lily was disturbed that her Grandma was not moving. Had to explain that was just the body she lived in but that she was with the Lord Jesus in heaven. That very night Lily had a dream that she was up in Heaven with Grandma – she held her in her arms like she used to do. She said it was all beautiful up there, everything white and gold. And then Lily said “over there in the corner was the empty casket – she wasn't in there anymore, she was alive!” She told this dream to Mary the next morning. Even though Lily still missed her very much, she knew that her Grandma was alive. I still wear Gleneale's wedding ring on the little finger of my left hand-- right beside my wedding band.”
I don't remember much about the funeral except that I was pouting through most of it because I didn't get to sit in the front row, closest to Grandma. We spent the night at Poppie's house and it felt empty and unusual. I still remember the dream Poppie wrote about. I saw myself sleeping in the room we always slept in at their house – grandma woke me and lead me up the most beautiful winding trail. She gave me a personal tour of her new room and assured me that she was well and happy there. She did hold me tight and reminded me that she loved us all very much. Content, I ran back down the trail by myself and reported it all to my mom the next morning.
This past Friday was the 18th anniversary of Grandma's death. I cherish the few memories I have of our time together and still enjoy homemade chocolate chip cookies on a regular basis. Now I wear Grandma's wedding band; I couldn't have asked for a more precious, meaningful wedding gift, or for a more loving, memorable grandmother.
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Lily - I like to pop over and read your blog sometimes, and just had to tell you this post about your grandmother got me all teared up. Thanks for sharing your memories and your heart, and for letting me be a blog-stalker :)
ReplyDelete-Lauren (Crane) Vanderburg