Today is my grammie’s birthday. She would have been 102. In honor of her I am adding this open letter.
Dear Grammie,
You are never far from my thoughts. Pictures of you grace my walls and photo albums. Memories of you flood my mind. At this time of year, thoughts of you come more often and the memories are bittersweet. The holidays remind me of you, for you always made them so special when I was a little girl
I told you often that I loved you, but did I ever tell you that you are my hero? Because of the way you cared for Papa as he died and how you lived the remainder of your life with dignity, you will always be a hero to me.
It could not have been easy to have Papa divorce you when he did. I know dad was still a boy at home. It had to have hurt you a great deal to know that he left you for another woman. I hope I never feel that pain.
I’ll never know what you went through all those years that Papa brought his new family for holiday celebrations. I remember a great many Christmases that Lynn and the girls shared dinner at the table with the rest of us. That had to be more painful than I can begin to imagine.
The three years that you unselfishly took care of Papa made me realize two things: the first is that a person can forgive even when she has been hurt by the one she loves the most and the second is that I now understand was unconditional love is. Never, in all that time, did I hear you complain about taking care of him. I remember how difficult he was to get along with at times. He could be thoroughly cruel in his cutting remarks and insensitivity to others, but still you kept on cooking meals, cleaning solid sheets and clothing, emptying bed pans, bathing an increasingly incontinent man, and answering his every beck and call 24 hours a day. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you did it. Nor do I think I’ll understand why.
You were so calm the day he died. The rest of us were stunned and silenced at the sight of his body in our living room. No one expected him to die at home. It was a very strange day, yet you were more together than the rest of us. We all fell apart. Did you shed silent tears that no one saw?
The next few years blur as I grew and graduated and moved away. You were always the one constant, however, and I treasure the special holidays memories of those times when I returned home from college.
I still have the letter I wrote to you when I was in Pohnpei. Aunt Nancy told me you cried as you read the letter. After reading the letter, you tucked it next to your heart during the day and put it under your pillow at night. My only regret is that I never said those things in person. I found that letter after you died. It was tied by a ribbon with other special letters and notes. It was my turn to cry as I read the letter.
When I came home from Pohnpei, I realized how old you had become. I don’t know if you felt it or if anyone else saw it, but for the first time in my life you were…old. It was an old beyond years. You seemed tired and worn and ready to rest. Maybe it was just my imagination, but i am certain that is what I saw. It was hard to watch you struggle to walk to meet me in the airport. I don’t know if you ever knew, but you are the reason I flew into Eugene instead of Portland. I wanted you to be there if at all possible. I am still glad you came that day.
I had to go away to college again to finish my degree. That’s when things began happening to you. First, you fell and broke your ankle. Then it wouldn’t heal properly and gangrene set in. The doctors decided they should amputate your foot. I wish I knew how that really affected you. You never said anything about it. You must have been in a great deal of pain. In spite of the pain, you never complained or cried out. The only indication we have is what Uncle Willard told us after your death. He said that one day as he visited you, you questioned why all this had to happen to you.
That Thanksgiving was really difficult for me. You had had a couple of strokes, but seemed to be better. Uncle Dean brought you home for Thanksgiving with the family. You had another stroke than. Did you remember that day at all?
You were in the hospital when I came home at Christmas time. That was the last time I saw you alive. I wish I had known that then. I would have stayed for the entire holiday. Aunt Nancy kept me posted once a week. You traded nursing homes and had another section of your leg removed. You were learning to stand and “walk” between the parallel bars. Everyone was really proud and excited at your progress.
Just a few weeks went by. I forgot to call. Then the phone rang in the middle of the night. It was dad. You had just died. They told me you had been in a coma, but kept hanging on. Your children gathered around you and told you it was okay with them if you decided you were tired and wanted to just let go and rest. You simply stopped breathing. Your mind was clear and strong until the end. I am glad of that.
I saw you at the funeral home. You looked so calm and peaceful in your casket. Seeing you there, knowing the pain you were in before you died, I wouldn’t have wished you back for anything. Someone put a yellow rose in your hands. They were always your favorite. Someone told me they were the flowers Papa always gave you when he courted you.
Though I still wouldn’t wish you back, I do have a couple of regrets. I regret that you never saw me graduate from college. The other is that you will never see the child I promised I’d name after you–at least not on this earth.
I have done a lot of growing in the years since you died. I’d like to think that your influence on my life had something to do with that. You showed me that unconditional love could forgive even the most painful of betrayals. You showed me that silence in pain, physical or emotional, is a powerful witness to the strength of God’s love. I know that without your relationship with God, you would not have been able to endure all that you did.
I told you in that letter from Pohnpei that I was excited that I looked like you and that my goal was that someday I would be like you. I set out to accomplish that goal and along the way, discovered that in order to be like you, I would have to become more like Christ. It is not an easy goal to actualize, but you have shown me that I have not only His help along the way, but also generations of strength pointing me in the right direction.
I know you will never see this letter or hear the message I send, but I will send it anyway. Thank you, Grammie, for the setting such a clear example of the power of love. It was a love that allowed you to forgive and then to care for a dying man who hurt you once upon a long time ago. It was also a love that kept you fighting until the very end. Thank you for that legacy of love.
That is why you are my hero.
I love you.
rachaelyjones 