The past couple of weeks have flown by. I've been missing the time that I often have to sit down and express what I'm feeling or what is going on in a blog post. Sam has been sick quite a bit, and last Friday (March 11th) my grandmother passed away. She had been ill for quite a while, and it wasn't completely unexpected. But death is still never easy. Sunday night I was at home alone with Sam (Tim happened to be away for 10 days when this happened) and I found myself sitting in front of the computer, just thinking. Words just started flowing from me, so I started typing them out. Here it is....take a read....
A Tribute to Gramma
Nothing quite compares to the love of a mother, although the love of a grandmother comes close. Grandmas evoke a certain delight, a sense of fun that cannot be created by another. They can be your confidante, share secrets, get into mischief in a way that a parent never can. There is something very special about the relationship between child and grandparent. Something very special indeed.
My memories of gramma mommy (this is what we affectionately called her) are happy, full of fun and laughter. I can remember relishing going to her home as a child, looking forward to playing in her big yard with the apple tree and swing, bubble baths in her soaker tub, snuggling up with her under the covers. I remember sitting at the table in her kitchen watching her make lunch and I distinctly remember, actually tangibly, playing with the Tupperware salt and pepper shakers that sat on her kitchen table. I remember long walks in her neighbourhood – stopping so she could chat with neighbours about their gardens or the weather or whatever. I can still see the long, tree-lined street that she used to live on.
I loved playing in her garden and being full of awe at the beauty of the roses and the grapes that she grew every year. I have memories of more than one occasion helping gramma weed her garden, and although I didn’t really enjoy the weeding, she never made me do it long, and there was always a refreshing drink after the work.
Summers were very special because Gramma would come up to our house for a week and take all us kids out to the cottage while my parents worked. There was one summer in particular that sticks out in my mind – a week where we spent most of our time floating out on the water with the Steve Miller band blasting from the stereo over and over and over. Gramma didn’t complain, but she did hide the tape so that we couldn’t play it in the car on the way home. J
There were many warm summer afternoons spent cleaning fruit – whether it was peaches at grammas house or strawberries at ours. We’d make jam, can fruit, sneak some juicy pieces of fruit on the side – I loved these summer days.
As time passed and we grew older, I went to school and gramma moved to an apartment. The visits were less frequent, but still full of joy when we met. Gramma would send me letters of encouragement, something that always seemed to arrive right when I needed it. She was a silent partner, a prayer warrior, a cheerleader for each of us as we set out on our endeavors in life.
Although I never realized it at the time, each moment I spent with Gramma helped shape the woman that I am today. Gramma was an exceptionally strong woman – strong in her will and strong in her faith. She endured many challenges in her life but never lost faith and never stopped smiling. When I think about the life that she led and the legacy that she has left, it makes me smile. Her legacy is this: grandchildren that know that they are loved and cherished; who have learned that hard work and perseverance are key in reaching your goals. But most of all, her legacy is of a faith so strong, that no matter what life throws your way, if you turn to Christ, He will help you weather the storm.
