My Granny

Dear Granny,

It's days like today that I begin to feel the ache of missing you.  You, who were wed young, having children young, you became a young grandma.  You were 44 when I was born, the fourth and last of the grandkids, all of the girl variety.  I sit here and try to remember my earliest memory of you......maybe the Easter baskets you sent, along with the chocolate egg that had been hand decorated just for me.  Or the little tartan skirt and vest set you let me buy when we went on our annual spring break shopping spree.  I think I was all of four, with the best part coming home to dress up and prance around, showing off for Gramps. 

The spring break vacations were the gathering of the four of us grandkids at your home for a week.  There was that time, we all wanted to sleep together but knew you would not agree to our all night giggle fest.  So we thought we would sneak in the middle of the night, the two youngest girls on top of  the bed while the two oldest made beds underneath.  You know the bed I am talking about, the four poster bed with the ornate piano carved on it; it was extra high off the ground making the perfect place to get away with things.  You must have heard our whispers and came in to quite us, not sure how two girls could be creating such noise.  I am not sure which of the oldest granddaughters grabbed your leg from underneath that bed, but you screamed and scolded, while we laughed; and laughed and laughed.  You were such a good sport, and somehow I think we got to spend that night together, the four of us.

There was that one spring break where I got real sick, keeping you up at nights with a croupy cough and a high fever.  Instead of sending me packing home to be sick, you nursed me with steam tents and nasty concoctions to bring up the phlegm.  Every night, when I would wake up unable to breath, you would come in with a cold cloth and the treatments would start again. Then during the day, I would lay on the couch, pathetic and feeling sorry for myself, while you would entertain the other three granddaughters.  I'm never sure how you did it.

I think I learned my work ethic from you, maybe passed down through my father, but it started with you.  You, the wife of a lumberman, would get up at 4 each morning to start breakfast and pack a lunch for your husband, my Gramps.  He would go off to work, and you would sit at the dining room table writing letters to start your day. You taught me how to can peaches and the fine art of making your special freezer jam in the strawberry variety.  I always tested your patience with the corners I tried to cut; adding the sugar too fast to the jam, or not letting it dissolve for the peaches. 

Indeed you were the queen of crocheting and I believe there was some knitting going on too.  If I could not wait on sugar to dissolve, it should have been no surprise to you that I could not crochet.  Not only was I impatient, I was a perfectionist!  I could not allow for the uneven loops of a new skill and so I never learned what you were best at.  Today, I feel a pang of regret that I could not tame my impatience at an earlier age to allow your legacy to live through my fingers.  Instead, I keep the afghans you made with love out of the colors we choose.

One of my favorite memories of your cooking was those little pie tarts you made.  They were just rolled out left overs from the crust of a pie.  You would cut them with a biscuit cutter and then use a thimble to take out three holes from what would form the top of the tart.  I would always hope you would count wrong and I would get the extra top or bottom.  The best tarts were made with your blackberry jam; made from the blackberries you and Gramps would pick in the woods or along the road that we would take down to the falls.

That road reminds me of the famous and most fantastical story created by the four granddaughters yet another spring break.  The four of us took a walk down to the falls, and along the way we found a deer trail that had been frequented down a steep bank.  I'm not sure who tried it first, but soon enough all four of us were sliding down the trail, on our bums, down to the switch-back road below and running up the road to do it again.  The real problem arose when we returned home and you saw our bums.  Buttefalls was known for its red clay, which had been ground into our jeans all the way through to our undies.  I think that was the first time I really saw you mad at us.  It also showed your crazy skills at laundry as most of it came clean.

I had some dark days in my college years, days that you and Gramps held my hand through.  I'm not sure you understood any of it but you were always an ear to listen.  I came down one weekend, the darkness winning, I laid in the bed made from the hide-away couch and listened to the rain on the tin roof and I felt so much peace made from the years of the familiar.  You and Gramps were always there for me.

You held a grudge like no other though.  I pissed you off more times than you would ever tell anyone.  As Gramps would say, "that's all right' as we would get through to the other side.  Granny, I have 9 dogs.  You probably already know that by now.  There at the end, you would always ask how many dogs I had and I would say, "they are like potato chips, you can't have just one" but I would never tell you.  Indeed it is nine but I know you understand as you had that special place in your heart for the likes of Bonnie and Cinnamon and the others.

It's funny, when I handed you that letter I copied, the one Gramps had written you when he was in the war, you said you could not wait to spend some time with him.  I know you missed him very much.   As I left your room there in the retirement living village, I knew I would not see you again.  You passed, or crossed the rainbow bridge as we dog folks like to say, just as I made it to Kentucky.  For the first time in my life, I know you finally got to see my dogs run.  And run they did! 

Granny, I love you beyond words.  I am so thankful for all you invested in me and taught me. I want to be a Granny just like you when my time comes.  I know your life was not easy but you were so strong. It's days like today, the strawberries on and memories of Bebe's drifting in through my truck window with their scent, that I begin to feel the ache of missing you.

Rest In Peace, Granny of mine.

Until I see you again, I promise I will

Seize the Day!