Fortunate Grandaughter of a Finnish Grandma

by mtnorwaymommy

My dear Grandma went to Heaven yesterday.  She was 96 and died peacefully, surrounded by people who loved her.

Grandma was always the same age to me.  She never aged until the last few years.  Whether laughing over coffee, dancing at a wedding,  or digging in the dirt of her Hockinson homestead raspberry patch, she usually looked just like the smiling lady you see above.  Forever youthful, her red curls faded not into grey, but became a soft strawberry blonde. With a pinch of lipstick to pinken her cheeks, she’d add a sparkly pin or some baubly beads to her red sweater and be ready for another happy family event.

When I would ask her how the coffee was, she’d smile and say in her chipper voice, “It’s hot.”

When I asked her how she felt, she’d put my hand on her’s, chuckle and say, “How do I feel?”  Then she’d reach into the fridge to serve something up to me and my children, leftover jello, a little vanilla ice cream on the side, a frozen pizza, some beets, homemade coffee bread.  You never left with an empty belly, or an empty trunk.  I toted home Christmas ornaments, Grandpa’s old chair, prunes, magazines, family pictures, always something.

We’d sit and play Rummikub together, and she’d swat at my hand if I made suggestions on where she should play.  This was serious business! Scrabble was a different matter.  She once asked if she could use the edges of the board to add letters outside of the squares.  Nope! But she loved me anyway.

Grandma loved us all deeply, but enjoyed the light conversations best.  And a good song would complete the visit.  “Let’s sing!” and she’d pull out her hymn book, turning to “Amazing Grace” or “His Eye is on the Sparrow.”  She trilled away in her lilting voice, hitting the high notes by leaning in, swinging her arm, and raising her eyebrows (just like my Dad did.)

Once in the hospital, apparently unconscious awhile back, following a serious stroke, we thought it might be her time to go to Heaven, but as I sang an old hymn, Grandma’s parched lips joined in with a few of the words, seeming to say, “I’m not done yet!”

And she wasn’t.  Grandma was eager to live.

Before her strokes became more pronounced, Grandma lived with us in our home for about nine months.  She moved into the downstairs family room, and she taught us about life.  She helped us recognize how important relationships are.  When her children would come to take her to lunch or home for the weekend, she was thrilled! People were her hobby.

She loved Jesus and he was her favorite musical subject.  It was sweet to hear her pray.  In those times when she did experience pain or fear, she would call out to her Good Shepherd, trusting that He would take care of her. That simple trust, I believe, helped give her a long, content life.

She was a novel blend of independence and childlikeness.  It felt odd to watch over my Grandma, but it was a solemn privilege.  It was humbling to take care of the family matriarch, and though we were no storybook setting, those months gave the children the opportunity to really get to know her.

Perhaps this will help them understand me when I am older.  I look like my Grandma, and I even sound like her.  We are both short Finnish women (me with a strong bit of Irish and German blended in.)  We both enjoyed raising chickens, and making chicken sounds, too. I received what musical talent I bear from Grandma.  My fine hair is from Grandma. My rosy cheeks are from Grandma, and I like to think that I love to be with people because in this too, I am like Grandma.

May I major in the relationships, and minor in the other things.  When I am afraid, may I call out to the One that is stronger than I. May I always take time to put on coffee and pull out whatever I have to share when someone comes by.  And may I do it with a cheerful song and  smile on my lips.

Grandma, you leave behind a spot that will be empty until I hug you again in Heaven, hear your cheerful chortle, and feel the squeeze of your strong hands.