Grandma

I’m not good with saying goodbye. More often than not, when moving away, I leave my friends with a quick, “I’ll see you later!” It’s just easier for me to treat final goodbyes like an everyday parting. I think this is partly why I find this post so hard to write.

A week ago last Saturday my mother's mother died. She lived a wonderfully full life and left this earth surrounded by her husband and 8 children. Although her body had been slowly failing as she aged, the end was rather sudden. In typical Grandma fashion, she held on long enough to allow all her children to arrive. As I considered her death and the void she left, I couldn’t help but be thankful for her life.

Down the street from the home where she was raised, Grandma lived her entire married life in a small mining town. Growing up in the mid-west, my memories of Utah center around visits to my grandparent’s town. Sitting at the base of Kennecott copper mine, this town contains a wonderful, and large, central park (probably so fun because it was born before people became too frightened of regular childhood activities) and a quaint, unique church building (that the head of the Church himself had to give the OK to keep open because it is also an old church building).

It was in Grandma’s home that I would freeze in the non-humid, cool Utah summers. It was in their home that I would first be introduced to Anne of Green Gables. It was in their home that I would hear stories of my mother while spending nights in her childhood bedroom. It was from their home that we would visit the copper mine and marvel at tires larger than cars. This is where we visited every 24th of July reunion with my aunts, uncles and cousins; where we gathered on Christmas Eve for divinity and sandwiches with Au Jus sauce. Grandma’s house holds a sacred place in my childhood memories.

It was in their home that I saw, up close, how beautiful a loving relationship can become as it ages. I have always loved watching the relationship between my grandparents. Their marriage has been an example to generations now. The most difficult part of Grandma’s death was realizing the pain their separation inflicted on my grandfather; it was listening to Grandpa reminisce about Grandma that brought me a large measure of peace. I left Grandma’s funeral with a determination to grow my marriage to be like theirs.

My grandmother lives on in her children and grandchildren- and now great-grandchildren. It can be heard in our distinctive laugh (or more accurately, cackle), our playful husband thump (how else to keep them in line?), our love of reading (and chocolate), our devotion to family, and our determination to be happy, to be loving, to be strong. Thank you, Grandma. I’ll see you later.

At the request of our aunts, my very talented sister made this tribute for Grandma in one night. My favorite picture is the one on the top left which shows my grandparents soon after they first met on their missions in the Eastern United States Mission. They are sewing costumes for the Palmyra pageant. My grandfather insists their companions were one step away, you just can't see them in the photo.