Taking a deep breath and preparing myself for what my parents had told me to expect, I walked into her room with a smile on my face, a bounce in my step – exuding energy and health – and gaily said, “Grandmother, I’m here!”  “Oh, Barbara,  I knew you’d come; so glad you’re here” breathed my Grandmother weakly as I reached for her hands and her hug at the nursing home. “I came as soon as I could, Grandmother,” I whispered as I held her close. It was then that the tears came automatically and the throat constricted painfully and the words echoed back…back…back through time….

“Grandmother, I’m here!” I’d shout through the back screen door.  “Oh, Barbara, so glad you’re here.  Let’s go gather the eggs.  I need help with the settin’ hens,” she’d say.  And hand in hand we’d head toward the hen house with her big pail and my little pail, she at age 41 and I at age 3.  I always got to set the table at Grandmother’s house and it was a task I loved doing because of her bright colorful Fiestaware.  Sometimes I’d make sure I matched everything in the same color at a single place setting and sometimes0I’d be very artistic and mix all the colors together in a splash of perpetual spring.  “It’ll be our rule,” Grandmother would tell me, “that no one can be sad or mad when they sit down to eat at our table.”  “Yep, it’s our rule!” I’d chirp.  “Besides, who can be sad or mad sitting at a table that looks like a field of flowers?”  And so, all of my life I have smiled whenever I have had the good fortune to sit down with Fiestaware. This is part of the fabric of my life; for this I thank her.

“Grandmother, I’m here!” I’d always say.  “Oh, Barbara, so glad you’re here,” she’d always reply. And as the years progressed, she taught me how to sew, how to crochet, bake, make butter in the new electric churn, iron clothes using her new built-in ironing board that had a secret foldup spot in the laundry room, take care of African Violets, tell when the roast was done, can the whole garden crop, pluck chicken feathers and dress out a hen, play Solitaire a million ways, respect my elders, honor a good education, work.  She told me what behaviors she thought were right and what were wrong, but I never remember her telling me I was wrong. She sympathized with me when my parents disciplined me and she would make comforting little clicking sounds when I’d tell her all the horrid things my parents wanted me to do (like clean up my room, help around the

house, take care of my brothers and sisters – you know, things that couldn’t possibly have been fair!). And so, all of my life I have smiled whenever my daughters have wanted to run to my mother or my Grandmother with the travesties of justice I have heaped upon them from time to time.  This is part of the fabric of my life; for this I thank her.

Like clockwork every fall, my Grandmother and Grandfather would whisk me away to buy “school clothes.” This was always an eventful trip to a faraway place where we’d get to stay overnight. Oh, the luxury of it all:  two pairs of shoes, 5 dresses, sometimes a winter coat, and brand new underwear.  Then, of course, there were new Big Chief notebooks, pencils, an eraser, a pencil sharpener, and a lunch box. It was such a comfort to go off to school all decked out in the newest, latest fashions. At least I knew I wouldn’t bring dishonor to my family because they wouldn’t find me in raggedy underwear if I got hit by a car or the school bus!  And so, all of my life I have smiled on the first day of wearing new underwear, relieved to not be bringing dishonor to the family.  This is part of the fabric of my life; for this I thank her.

When my grandparents built their lovely new brick home, they also bought brand new furniture to go with it. “Out with the old and in with the new” was definitely one of their goals.  Grandmother was so proud of everything in this house that she had designed and furnished. To celebrate, we had a family meal at their new dining room table with a homemade crocheted tablecloth and matching runner on the sideboard.  It was a huge turkey dinner with all the trimmings. The Fiestaware stayed in the cupboard and the good dishes and silver came out.  It was always turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry salad, homemade rolls and butter, a huge relish tray with plenty of black olives, real milk straight from the cow, and pumpkin pie. And so, all of my life I have smiled when I, too, use the handmade crocheted tablecloth and the matching runners and when I automatically make “The Meal.”  This is part of the fabric of my life; for this I thank her.

When our oldest daughter, Michelle, was two years old, we made a visit to these grandparents.  Just as we were getting out of the car, I said to Michelle, “Now run to the door and say, “Grandmother, I’m here!”  And she did.  And back came the reply, “Oh Michelle!  So glad you’re here.” I knew then that my daughter would find the same kind of comfort in this Great Grandmother that I had found in this Grandmother of mine.  It was no different when Becky came along 2 1/2 years later.  When we would be ready to leave, I’d always look for things to put away, children’s messes to clean up.  One day I got out the window cleaner to wipe the fingerprints off her glass door. “Oh, please don’t take away their fingerprints.  That’s all I have left when they go, and I want the memories.”  And I know, when Michelle and Becky bring their children for a visit some day, I will smile and insist on keeping the fingerprints.  This is part of the fabric of my life; for this I thank her.

I never smell lilacs or peonies without the memories flooding back.  I never see little ceramic pixies in a shop without those memories.  I never see handmade crochet work,  wrap up in an afghan,  attend church suppers or church bazaars, fix a chicken casserole, or bake cinnamon rolls, see the Oldfellows and Rebeccas Lodge signs, play a game of Bridge, or use White Shoulders perfume without my Grandmother coming to mind. There is not one room in my home that doesn’t have something Grandmother made.  I have these memories on a daily basis.  I have this richly-woven fabric of my life that smells, feels, looks, and tastes like Grandmother’s things. They comfort me; they help me accept the march of the generations. For this I thank her.

These are the memories that came flooding back to me in the nursing home as I gently held her in my arms last month.  And now I understand today, in May, why the unstoppable stream of tears comes at odd times, why my throat constricts when the memories well up, unbidden but welcome.  Today, on Mother’s Day,  I honor my paternal Grandmother. I pay her the tribute she deserves for being a responsible elder of our family tribe and our hometown community. No matter what her faults and foibles throughout her life have been (and she has had them), she is still the elder stateswoman to me.  She passes on the traditions of the family; she is my guide, my helper, my teacher.  She is the salt of the earth; she hears the drumbeat of time; she’s a part of the march of the generations. She has taught me to march well, to care for my family and community. Now my parents are about to take on the mantel of the elders.  They, too, have added strength and richness to the fabric of my life. And they shall take up the responsibilities well; they, too, shall join the march.  They, too, learned from my Grandmother, who learned from hers ….

Grandmother Dearest, I wish I had the power to take away your Alzheimer’s Disease, I wish I had the power to reduce your confusion and ease your humiliation – but I don’t.  You are in the hands of some far greater power than I, whose plan for you I do not know.

I wish for you a safe journey, the part of you that has gone.  But I know what you leave behind:  the most important part of all is that I have learned your lessons, seen your actions, heard your words.  I shall care for them well.  I shall share them with my daughters, I shall accept the mantel of the elders when it is my turn; for I, too, am warp and woof a part of the march of the generations.  May your Mother’s Day be peaceful and may your memories sustain you and wrap you in love.  I’m here, Grandmother.

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