My grandma got made fun of a lot in my house growing up. All in good fun, of course (I'm pretty sure, anyway), as my family often shows affection through good natured ribbing. Of course, sometimes we're just snotty but can claim it was that same old "affectionate teasing" routine.
But I digress. I was talking about Grandma.
You see, my grandma is, how shall I say this? Quirky, perhaps? She speaks very rapidly and doesn't enunciate terribly well. While she is quite bright, she is not very well educated--or at least not very well rounded in her education. She wears bright red Wet N Wild lipstick the way many people use Chapstick. She makes rather severe snap judgments, and has been known to sometimes cling to them a bit too long. She has the temper to match her auburn locks (which just started showing gray for the first time, really, a few years ago). She had a difficult marriage, so I'm sure her children saw her often upset (and she is not one to quietly be the victim). She's been an incredible grandparent, always full of fun conversation and some homemade treat, be it her delectable fudge, divinity, popcorn balls or a score of other sugary delights (is it any wonder the woman has diabetes?) While I knew she was a great grandma, because of the ease of mocking all these other traits (and the joy my father, particularly, took in said teasing) there was something I missed about her for years:
She's incredible.
My grandma was raised by faithful LDS parents. She was the baby of the family, and was treated accordingly. She speaks of her mother with great affection and respect, as a quiet woman with an even temperament--as an adult I know this is partly out of gratitude, and partly out of wishing that she were more like her mother. As a young woman, she fell in love with a handsome young man who was not LDS, but who was from a good, hard-working family that shared many of her values. She chose a civil marriage.
Before I go any further, I must state that I love my grandfather and he was a good, kind and affectionate grandparent to his grandkids. I didn't know him as well as I should've (particularly considering that he lived across the creek from my house for most of my childhood), but I will always cherish the memory of his wonderful story-telling ability and his utterly charming Ronald Reagan smile.
Now, that being said, my grandma was married to a man who was an alcoholic. He was never, never, never physically abusive to her or the kids. He treated a couple of them poorly, but for the most part his children remember him as a decent man, and I've heard the younger ones describe him as "a great dad" and "one of the sweetest men I've ever known". More than anything, the problem was that as a husband, a father and a provider, he was simply unreliable in most every way.
My grandparents separated when I was about Dylan's age, and divorced shortly thereafter. I have no memory of them as a couple. When I was a tweenager and teenager, when my grandmother first started telling about their life together, what struck me was the very obvious, very conflicted presence of both a great deal of anger and a great deal of love. Nine years ago, my grandmother married her current husband. He joined the church a couple years later, and they are now sealed to each other. The longer she was married to Clark, the less I heard the anger. Just a couple of years ago she said of Clark, "He's my companion." It was an odd combination of gratitude and sad disappointment. I started to really understand how my grandma felt about Grandpa. She had loved him--she didn't stay married to him for 37 years just out of stubbornness or not having anywhere else to go. She loved him, and I really believe that if, at any point, he had shown any true interest in the church, she would've gone right back to him. But though she loved him, and held onto hope for a long time, he was never a companion to her, not really.
When I was preparing to get married the summer I turned 19, I was so excited. But I was also a little sad, knowing that none of the people I loved would be in the temple with me. A few friends were at the temple (Bret and Erica--what did I ever do to deserve them in my life?), and my grandma served as my escort. The trip to California was too much for her, so she didn't make it to the wedding, but I knew she was with me in her heart. I sat at her house talking with her and she started telling me about when she went through the temple for the first time as a middle aged woman. She was full of joy and hope and gratitude. Yet she was completely heart-broken, because she knew even though that step took her closer to her parents, her family, and the Lord--that it was the right thing and where she should be--it was taking her that much farther away from Lamar, and he didn't have any desire to follow her there.
At that moment, I grew up a little. For probably the first time in my life I looked across the table at this woman I had known my whole life and really saw her. Not as grandma, not as Dad's mom, not as the family caricature we all had so much fun with, but as a woman, a fellow traveler. I knew well the heartbreak of feeling like doing the right thing--specifically going through the temple--was taking you farther away from the people you loved. How much more heartbroken would I feel, I thought, if it were my husband that taking that step moved me away from?
I have watched the transformation in my grandma the last decade. Her temper (and general demeanor) has calmed. She makes judgments a bit more slowly and reflectively. She is good-humored about her own faults (which she is more aware of than most give her credit for). Some probably write it off to the tempering of old age (she turned 80 last year). But I am confident that much of it is having a companion who she feels cherished by. Its that many more years to grow closer to the Savior (that's what the "tempering of old age" is for many people, after all).
It has been my privilege and delight to have many long, meaningful conversations with her both in person and over the phone about the Gospel, family and everything that matters the last several years. It continues to amaze me how much she understands and how well she understands it. Because her grasp of eloquent language is lacking, because she doesn't have the ability to articulate things the way most of her kids can, I don't think she gets the credit she deserves for what she knows and understands. But her grasp of eternal truths and principles is better than most I know. Hopefully she has a good long time left here on this earth, but I will miss her when she's gone. And when my own time comes to lay this mortal by, I will be proud to have her be one of those who comes to help guide me home.
Somewhere in the vicinity of 19 pounds and 26 inches. Keilana's best buddy, recently the object of Dylan's tender affection, my delight. Happy, easy-going, curious. Daddy's biggest fan! She hangs out with him quite a lot, and pretty happily. And she loves the piano. Its usually the surest bet for beating cranky boredom blues. She's quite the little Mozart.
