Grandma

This perspective seems selfish since it’s really only my experiences with Grandma, but it’s all I have to go off of, and I’m sure people will be able to relate in many ways throughout.

You can’t put all of your thoughts and memories about Grandma into words at one point in time, as I’m attempting to do right now, because you’re ultimately going to miss things that you’ve completely forgotten about until a point in time arrives that sparks a memory and makes you smile because it was a memory you had previously forgotten that involves Grandma.

Looking back I can classify memories into three different segments, and since most everyone can relate to Grandma’s cooking, that’s how I’ve decided to divide the segments.

1. Piece of toast, purple jelly, butter first

My youngest memories begin with going to Grandma’s house every day while my parents went to work.  Watching The Price is Right, playing games, waiting for dad to show up for lunch but hiding somewhere in the house and making him find my sister and I before we’d eat.  These are the days where my initial bond with Grandma began.

Most every morning began the same exact way.  Grandma asking, “what do you want for breakfast today?”  She’d ask every day despite knowing the answer. A piece of toast with purple jelly, butter first.

Grandma would go into the kitchen and make breakfast, basically priming me with enough energy to be able to watch Bob Barker and his oddly long microphone and then play hide and seek with dad before either taking a nap or playing more card games with Grandma before being picked back up by dad after work.

2. Chocolate chip cookies

As I got older and was tall enough to reach the cookie jar, it became my go-to place in Grandma’s kitchen.  Grandma always had cookies around. I can likely count on one hand the number of times I went to her house and she didn’t have cookies.

It was also at this age where we started playing with the neighbors.  Grandma’s house was in the perfect location for my sister and I when we were younger because there was never a shortage of kids our age to spend our summers with while we weren’t in school.

The Sagler boys next door and Jake and Anna Isler across the street.  Grandma had quite a few grandchildren the way it was, but there’s not a person who knew my Grandma who wouldn’t say that she basically served as a Grandmother to these kids as well.  Whether we were playing at one of their houses, in Grandma’s basement, or in one of the yards, we always knew where we could go for some freeze pops and chocolate chip cookies for a mid-afternoon snack.  My Grandma didn’t love these kids just because they were around to keep my sister and I occupied and out of her hair for a few hours every day, but she genuinely cared for all of them the same way she did for practically everyone she knew.

I remember talking with my Grandma shortly after Anna passed a couple of years ago.  The look in my Grandma’s eyes would have knocked me down to my knees if I wouldn’t have had something to balance on.  You knew then and there that my Grandma would have given anything in the world to change places with Anna. And while it’s easy for someone to say they would do such a thing, there’s zero doubt in my mind that my Grandma would have had it any other way.  She was always a caring person who would put others needs before her own, and was happy to do so.

Being the grandchild who grew up mowing Grandma’s lawn I was also the one who benefitted the most by Grandma’s cooking and company.  While there were days where the last thing I wanted to do was mow the lawn because of how hot it was outside, or because of the fact I didn’t want to have to witness a snake slithering around in her backyard, I’m glad I was the one who got to do this for Grandma.  It helped to know that I was giving back a little bit to the person who did so much in helping to raise me. Plus the pay wasn’t too bad - chocolate chip cookies and meatballs every single time.

3. Meatballs

Which brings me to my third and final segment, meatballs.  Meatballs were the staple food of going to Grandma’s house.  Every single holiday spent at Grandma’s house included meatballs as part of the meal, and they were always the first thing we’d run out of.

Despite being spoiled by Grandma and her meatballs when I would mow her lawn, or when I’d come home from college to visit and she’d send me home with a Cool Whip container full of meatballs, I was never too deep in that food line during the holidays because I wasn’t about to get shorted on my meatballs.

Holidays were great.  Not only did it mean good food, but it meant that it was time for everyone to get together at Grandma’s house.  Countless hours of football in the yard, made-up games in the basement, and card games once we got a little older were in store, and that meant playing up and down the river against Grandma.

We played several different card games while at Grandma’s, but that one was always my favorite.  Not just because Grandma taught me how to play, but because you knew you could count on her reliving the previous hand with the person she believed was to blame for her not making it if she didn’t make it that time around.

As time went on and the grandchildren started having families of their own we didn’t have the same experiences at the holidays that we used to.  However, the new additions to the holidays, and life in general, were what I believe was one of Grandma’s favorite things late in life. The great grandchildren.

Whether it was seeing the great grandchildren in person, or seeing them via the photos Dennis would send her way, I couldn’t even put Grandma’s smile into words.  Over the last few years when I would stop over to Grandma’s she was always telling me stories about the kids coming by for a few hours or about the latest pictures she was sent.  I often think it was likely a good thing I haven’t had children yet, because I’m not sure there was any room left on Grandma’s lap or surrounding the chair she’d sit on in those photos with all the great grandkids.

One of the final memories of Grandma that will forever be replayed in my head was visiting her at the hospital the day she suffered her stroke.  It was at an event in West Salem a few months back where I was talking with Mike Adams about Grandma. We each shared some stories, but more than anything, we talked about how great of a person she was and how lucky we were to have her for this long.  I felt selfish saying it outloud, but I told Mike how important it was for me to have Grandma at my upcoming wedding. And not only was she there, but she looked fantastic and she even let me walk her down the aisle despite thinking she’d just be in the way.  But there was no way I was letting the fact that she needed a wheelchair get in my way that day, and I’ll forever be thankful for her being a part of that special day. It was at the hospital the day of her stroke when she looked at me and said, “At least I made it to your wedding.”

Having her at my wedding is exactly what I wanted, but hearing her say this caused so much pain because I could sense the end was near.  

Everyone deals with life experiences differently.  In this case, I had to write. I had to relive these experiences.  I had to feel the pain one more time. Because, after doing so, I can put the negative behind me.  I won’t have to remember those recent trips to the hospital. I won’t have to feel that empty feeling following phone calls wondering about updates regarding Grandma.  But rather I can remember all of the good times mentioned earlier, plus all of the random things I’ve forgotten about but will undoubtedly remember at some point down the road, leading to a smile on my face.

Thank you for everything, Grandma.