There is so much I can say...and as it is visibly clear, I wrote a lot. My hope is simply that in reading this, Grandma will be remembered as she was.
I loved coming home from school every day knowing that there was that force of stability…sitting in her chair...in the kitchen, doing a crossword, reading the paper, or a book. Sometimes, in the colder months, I could literally smell spaghetti as I would approach the house. As I would walk in and close that front door…I just felt home. The years I lived at home with Grandma, dad, and my brother were routine…there was a sense of reliability. I never had to question where my next meal was coming from (as I did while living with my mother)…I never had to question if there would be a mess…because there never was.
Some of my favorite memories are the nights that there were storms…summer nights specifically. I would go into her room and lay with her if I felt scared. Her presence reassured me that I was safe…with her…safe in my home. I remember going into her room in the middle of the night after a nightmare…and she would just listen to me telling her about the dream… sometimes I would cry…and she would assure me that they were "just" dreams.
I remember vaguely some earlier memories…when Erik would be on one side of her bed and I on the other….she would sing to us…my favorite song that she would sing was “Edelweiss" and she would sing to Erik too.
I remember being sick, even if I managed to make it on her “naughty-list” (which was quite often) it be as if whatever I had done wrong had vanished…I was instantly forgiven…and she would care for me around the clock. Making me soup, giving me Vernor’s, checking my temp, covering me up and tucking me in on the couch.
I remember going through her trunk of memories with her…I was so intrigued by her things. I remember I always loved seeing her jewelry or looking at the nic-nacks on her dresser. They all had special meaning to her. She only head a few things dear to her…they weren’t riches or fancy things…they were keepsakes. That was the kind of woman she was. She never needed material things to make her happy…she didn’t seek after, really, anything for herself…maybe a good book. But things like fancy clothes or new furniture…or name brand items didn’t seem to matter to her. Not that this would surprise me…she grew up with so little in her life. The thing she cherished most was love…to be loved and to give love to her family.
I remember the tree…how much she loved that tree outside. I remember these teenagers tearing leaves off of the tree and grandma scolding them. She believed in that tree…she knew that it had a life of it’s own…and she protected it. They eventually uprooted that tree…and it was truly devastating to her. Maybe it symbolized more than just the life of it’s own…quite possibly she saw herself in it. So, rooted in Hanover…the many years/seasons that she and that tree spent together. She would look out at it from her chair and adore it. My dad told me a week after they all moved out of Hanover…after every last memory had been had…every last dinner…every last opening and closing of the front door…the tree was taken away. The tree’s life ended just as the 20-some years at Hanover had finished for my family.
She loved her little garden in the front of the house…it was never large or extravagant…but she took pride in it. I went by 15802 three years ago…and some of the flowers that she planted with her two hands were still there. They were still there….10 years after we had all left. I am thankful for the those flowers…a remanent of Grandma…of her love for nature and the beauty in it.
She loved history as it has already been stated on here. It interesting…one tries to analyze why people are drawn to specific subjects of study. Maybe it was ingrained in her…the way it was in us because of her. But, now as I look back, I wonder if her passion for history was possibly inspired by her curiosity that she always had about her father that she would never meet. She knew that he was Indian because of the story Pauline, my great-grandmother had told her. Maybe grandma’s deep love for history stemmed in her youth from her desire to know about her past and then gradually became one of her greatest passions.
I remember the smells of Thanksgiving morning…Grandma preparing dishes…Erik and I watching the Thanksgiving parade and then playing video games. The aroma was soothing…and these Thanksgivings seemed like a “tradition” that never would never end.
I remember Christmas’s as a child….one in particular…when dad took Erik and I in the basement…and my Uncle John was stomping across the floor and Grandma put all of the gifts under the tree…Santa had come.
Grandma and dad made our Christmas’s so special. It was not just about gifts…in fact not really about that at all. It was more spiritual than anything…and we weren’t even “church-goers.” She and dad would play the most beautiful Christmas music like “What Child Is This”…candles lit and lights out…it was magical. She loved Christmas…and I imagine that is where my dad’s passion for Christmas came from…all of us for that matter.
I have this memory of summer days when the sun was coming through the slightly opened curtain in the living room and hearing “Be My Love” by Mario Lanza…gosh how she loved Mario. And she would sing along…with her high soprano voice.
I remember how she loved “Gone with the Wind,” she loved the “Sound of Music,” “ShowBoat,” and “Carousel.” She loved musicals…and movies that were inspirational. My dad told me she loved “ShowBoat” because she said it was how she imagined her own father was.
I remember every Labor Day, we were watching the Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Marathon. My grandma absolutely adored Jerry…and she loved what he was doing for these children.
I remember her 7th Avenue magazines…and one year, when she thought I was finally old enough to appreciate a bedroom set, she had me pick one out. It was hunter green…which was my favorite color when I was 10. I can’t recall if she ever bought herself a thing from that magazine…I certainly hope she did…but what I do know is used 7th Avenue to find and buy gifts for others. I remember how she wanted me to feel like a young lady…and she bought me this beautiful silver brush set and a cherry wood vanity. It must have taken her a while to save up the money…or maybe she planned it out. Such beautiful things…that she wanted me to have.
I am not going to say she never bought herself anything or that she never wanted new things. All women…and men alike have such desires. I will never forget the day my favorite golden couch was replaced by a whole living room set. Grandma was so proud of that set…so proud that she never wanted it to get dirty. Us grandkids, when we get together, often chuckle when we describe how she would cover that couch with these silly old sheets or blankets…and often they were mis-matched. Looking back, I realize why she covered her furniture…to preserve something she had saved so long for and that she was proud of.
I remember, one Christmas, I so badly wanted the Polly Pocket Mansion and she couldn’t afford it. She promised me she would get it for me as soon as she could. One sunny day, early in March, I came home from school and such a delightful surprise awaited me. She kept her word…I could always trust that. She didn’t make promises that she couldn’t keep…but when she did make a promise she came through.
I remember how she respected my time on the phone with my boyfriend (which to a teenager meant the world). When I lived with my mom, my mom would limit our conversations to 10 minutes….what could you possibly say in 10 minutes? My grandma would often allow an hour. I share this story because it may not be well known that Grandma was a true romantic at heart. She shared with me stories of unrequited love that she would always wonder about…the “what if’s”…yes, she was tough and made statements like “do not cry…it shows weakness”…but I know she had a tender heart in her core. These unrequited love stories, she would share with me as I grew into my own.
My grandma…she truly was the smartest woman I have ever met. She could recall specific dates and details of events in history without much thought. She would watch Jeopardy with my brother and dad…I would sort of watch…I was, most of the time, disinterested…as I always was captivated by some imaginary adventure with my barbies or Polly Pockets…or outside if the sun had not set. But, I remember when I would observe her and Erik…they would tally scores...I enjoyed seeing these mutual "competitions." She loved Trivial Pursuit too…
She loved learning about the world around her…the upstairs closest floor was stacked with National Geographic magazines. She always read the news…always watching the Today show. She took pleasure in the joy of others. These things that I write about, I didn’t really acknowledge it as child, in fact…I didn’t realize how much my Grandma cared about certain things until I grew old enough to appreciate her attributes.
When I think of Grandma, I think of her as the family stone. The very foundation of us all…and for so long, the one who seemed to be the glue that held us together. After she moved to Ypsilanti and then to Mackinaw…all family gatherings slowly began to diminish. Hanover was an era in time that could never be relived.
Grandma was a survivor…she lived through many hardships, of course, including this last one that slowly caused her to fade away. She was strong…with a willful spirit. I know that I am not the only who was influenced by this attribute. Sometimes, when I reflect on my childhood and how “spirited” I was…and strong-willed…I realize it is why we butted heads so much. Everything she told me not to do…maybe not everything…but many things, I would do. I don’t know if she was quite as precocious of a child, although, somehow I can’t imagine her any other way. She spoke her mind…and lived by her own terms…her own values.
She was a good woman…a great woman. Genuine and loyal…the most loyal person I have ever met. If she loved you, she loved you for life. She had a gentle soul and solid heart. I often wonder where/who Erik and I would be if she had not mothered us? She instilled so much value of education and knowledge. She loved us as her own children…she raised us in a way our own mother never could.
It’s ironic, as child, I can easily say I got on her nerves quite possibly more than anyone else, but as an older teenager/young adult, she loved our conversations and looked forward to them as much as I did. I remember talking to her almost weekly for many years…but I will always regret the day I started calling her less.
If there is one thing that I could say every day for of the rest of my life, it would simply be that I only wish I had more time with her. As an adult, I only visited “home” (Michigan) a handful of times…but each time I could hardly wait to see her beautiful, big, brown eyes and to hug her. She had such a gentle voice (fierce at times to be sure) and as it was mentioned already, a laugh that was so unique. As these years progressed, despite her dementia, she knew me…at some point I feel she may have forgot me but I like to believe in her heart I was always there…we ALL were…just as she was in all of our hearts...
Grandma, I love you…I will always love you. Reading these tributes…it is so clear that you are loved so deeply because of how you loved us all so truly. I have missed you and I will continue to miss you. I don’t know if I ever truly thanked you for raising this rambunctious child…for caring for me when my own mother sent me away as a teenager and for being the wings the helped me to fly…mostly for loving me unconditionally. You are now my “edelweiss”…
Edelweiss...
Every morning you greet me
Small and white, clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow
May you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever...
Edelweiss...
Edelweiss...
Bless my homeland forever...