Grandma W

I remember her firm grasp as she walked with me across the street. It scared me as a child, but I know she did it because she loved me.

I remember her kyphotic back, how I would have to crouch down so she could hug me, her teeth smile, her turning up her hearing aid in Fantastic Caverns, her love of the Price is Right, letting me analyze her conversation for my linguistics class, telling my family and Darren that she wanted her "future grandson to push her around" while they were at the San Diego Wildlife Park, her willingness to go on adventures anywhere: Amish country, bobbing mysteriously for hours in the ocean, site-seeing in Italy, fishing in Canada or Arkansas, watching my sister graduate in California. I remember her honesty, how the Alaska Class II rafting trip was "pretty, but boring."

I remember how when I was a journalism major, she would clip out interesting articles for me or find books for me to read. She loved to read. When my cousin and I opened up a library during one of our many business ventures, our grandma was our biggest patron.

I remember she always had beautiful flowers--a love I'm sure she got from my granny, and then passed down to my aunt.

I remember her amazing memory. She would begin a ginourmous story about Aunt such and such our granddad so and so and punctuate a particularly intriguing aspects with an "I tell ya...". She could tell you all about her dad and his various projects: how he tried to grow some sort of crop and how he whisked his family away to California just to return to the east. She'd narrate about how she and her mom became Christians when she was in the 8th grade or how movies would give her nightmares when she was little. The last night I had with her, she told my sister and I about her husband and his sister jitter bugging, and how he said she would be a fantastic dancer. As she told us about this, she had her hand on my knee. During that last night, she also said how she got a second helping of my mother's eggplant parmesan because it was so delicious; she hadn't eaten a second serving in years. I'm glad she did.

I remember her love of family and how photos covered her walls and albums smothered her furniture. She took great pride in our family, and although her husband died when my dad was only 13 years old, she still managed to have five children. We all loved her and she supported us with her endless quilts and loving presence. One always wishes she had more time with someone she loves. I wish I could have recorded more of her stories. I wish I could give her another hug and see her bright crooked smile. But I'm glad that she could go to my sister's baby shower and could get in the excitement of planning my wedding. I'm glad that the last night I was with her she got to see my dad and I practice our father/daughter dance. There were still plenty of things left for grandma to do, see, and share with this world...and I'm happy there were. She had battled health problems for decades but left us still WITH us--possessing amazing mental and physical strength, but more importantly strong love that was constantly interwoven into our lives. As a child, she may have scared me with her tight grasp, but now I just wish she could take my hand and show me her caring again.