Grandma Howell
October 26, 2015
October 26, 2015
Well, it’s me. Standing here on this spot doing a thing none of us ever wanted to have to do.
And,
in some ways that is natural. Being the
first born of the first born and all.
After
all, I am the person who made Grandma a grandma. (Which happened when she was 36 years old, by
the way, if you can imagine that.)
But,
of course, she was already many things to many other people before I came
along.
- She was a sister, a much loved and cherished big sister. Some of my favorite times with her were when she would tell stories about two young girls growing up in Port Clinton in the 1930s. What a pair you were! So different and so committed to each other for more than 85 years.
- She was a daughter, and a daughter-in-law, so in later years she was a caregiver.
- She was a wife – what an excellent wife! We can say that number “70 years” over and over and it will never mean as much as the memory of how Grandpa brightened when she entered the room, or the knowledge that she respected him so much, all the way to the end, to consult with him everything from the most mundane to the most important.
- She was a Mom, and a proud one, too. For a time she was a teenage Mom of an infant with a husband overseas in harm’s way. She was the Mom of a young boy with polio, describing for me once what she called the hardest days of her life, when little Jack was in an iron lung, behind a glass window, scared and crying and there was nothing she could do to help him. Being out of control would not have been a comfortable place for a woman with a PhD is GSD – getting stuff done. But there was nothing to be done in that case and it broke her heart. Later on, when she found herself the Mom of a 24 year old with a new baby like Tom, she seems to have taken that in stride, responding with love and clear thinking and some high quality getting stuff done. She loved being Ken’s Mom, because she so liked the man he grew up to be, so enjoyed spending time with you and your family.
- She was a mother-in-law, an aunt, a great-aunt, a great grandmother, a great-great grandmother, a neighbor and a friend – deeply loyal to those she loved.
My
grandma was many things to many people.
- She was a member of the congregation here, so committed to this institution she was sneaking money up here these last couple of years.
- She was a community volunteer – joining or leading committees and other groups of people who Get Stuff Done. It is no great surprise to any of us that The Gathering has struggled since she stepped down.
- She was a breadwinner, making sure her family had what they needed.
- She was an American patriot, serving as a trusted translator of the coded messages between The Pentagon and Erie Army Depot from the Second World War and all the way up until the Cuban Missile Crisis.
- She was a regular voter, too. In fact she asked me just three weeks ago about a ballot issue in Ohio this fall. She watched the news, paid attention, got involved, and made a difference.
- She was a cook, baker, seamstress, needleworker, crafter, cleaner, carpenter, fisherman. She loved fishing, especially with Josh and Jeremy.
- She was an excellent gardener. She loved her flower beds and enjoyed being in them. I loved how she could nurse any kind of plant back to health in that amazing greenhouse living room she had.
- She was a world-class deliverer of zingers and witticisms. We’ve all been sharing our favorites these last few days and I hope to hear more later on.
My
grandma was many things to many people. It simply isn’t possible to stand here
and say anything remotely summative or comprehensive about a life so
multi-faceted and so rich. Any of us
standing here would have a different take, would share different memories. So let me tell you briefly about the legacy
she has left with me.
It
was remarked this week – by Josh, I think – that she seemed always to be
putting other people ahead of herself. We all noticed that about her. I am
sorry to say that for most of my life I was aggravated about that. I regarded
her self-denial as an outdated artifact of a time before women were allowed
opinions of our own, an old fashioned and unhealthy version of womanhood that
includes perpetual sacrifice.
But
in these last few years my views on that changed pretty dramatically. Watching her, and being with her since her
stroke, I honestly believe that though she was many things to many people, it
was the richness of her internal life that drove her. She was so strong on the inside that whatever
was going on around her, she was good.
When
I was thinking, “Oh for Crying Out Loud just tell us what YOU want for supper” she
had already decided to enjoy whatever was served. When I was thinking “Please
let me go tell off that nurse for talking to you that way,” she had already
given the benefit of the doubt to the busy nurse. She was demonstrating what
all the great authors who write about human resilience and human happiness talk
about: the ability choose your own attitude. No matter what others did, Grandma
was good with herself. And that is the key lesson I have been absorbing lately.
One
of my favorite writers is a man named Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist in Vienna
in the 1930s who had an interest in human resilience. He was working on a book on this subject when
he and his family were swept up in the holocaust. The concentration camps
became a learning laboratory for what makes some people better able to handle
adversity than others. In short, Frankl concluded an orientation to finding
the positive in the present moment, having a purpose in life, and an
ability to look forward made the difference for some. It was whether someone had a vision for
the future that determined how they would do in life.
Well,
Grandma had that. The spark of life was very strong in her. She was content with what she had and she took
each day on its own terms. I am not
saying that she didn’t see or comment upon things she didn’t like. Far from
it. I know I often heard about it if she
didn’t like my hair, or if I arrived later than she expected, or didn’t call
often enough. Those with dietary restrictions from the doctor would hear about
our failings in that regard most often. She wanted what was best for us and
wasn’t shy of saying so.
But
she WAS happy with herself, and she must have had a tremendous confidence that
she could cope with life’s downsides so she might as well put her attention on
the good stuff as much as she could. With
apologies to those of you who have heard me tell this story recently, I want to
share with you something that happened that I found truly remarkable – and
instructive.
A
year ago we gathered in this room to say good bye to Grandpa. I watched Grandma very carefully that day, convinced
that there could not be anything more difficult than to bury your husband of 70
years. I know that I saw her lip quiver
when it was time to close the casket, but she remained upright and resolute and
we had the service. Then we made the trek out to the cemetery and had the
service there. When Jim told us that the
service had concluded and it was time to come back to the church for lunch, I
heard Grandma tell my mom that she wanted to sit for a bit. So we all stood back while Grandma sat beside
the grave of her husband, alone with her thoughts. After a few minutes, I could not take it
anymore so I moved in to the seat next to her and said “Grandma, it’s Cathy.”
She took my hand right away and said, “I have to go, but I am finding it
difficult to tear myself away.” I told
her, “Nobody here is in a hurry, so take your time.” She paused and said, “No, I’ve got to go.”
Grandma had made a little pun.
Right
there, at the graveside of her husband, at the moment it was time to
leave. And sitting next to her, I
chuckled. Looking up, I spotted Paul and Tom and Tim so I said “Well, I see my
handsome brothers over there. Whaddaya say I get one of them over here to help
you to the car?” She didn’t miss a beat.
She said, “Get Paul. He’ll make a better windbreaker.”
Now,
for those who may not recognize it, that is a little joke. Paul is bigger than
Tom and Tim. It’s a quip so impressively clever that I might have missed it she hadn’t made a similar zinger the day before when she had one arm around Paul and
one around Tim and said, “Huh, I think one of my arms is getting shorter than
the other.”
So
there we were about to leave Grandpa at the cemetery -- and Grandma made a
little joke. She was reorienting herself to life. Maybe she was doing it for me,
but I think she was doing it for herself. Later that night, when we were at the
Moose with all the Allens, I could not hear the conversation at her end of the
table, but I could see her shoulders rocking in that way they did when she was
laughing. She was reorienting herself to
life. She didn’t know what the future held for her, or how much time she had,
but she was clearly demonstrating that she was going to make the most of it.
In
this past year I did not hear her speak of missing Grandpa or Uncle Jack,
though I know others did. I did not hear her speak of her mortality or of being
ready to go, though I know she talked with Mom about that. What we spoke of
during our visits was whether there were enough bulbs in the garden for a good
spring bloom, how to vote in the upcoming elections, my life and career, the
future of the golf course property, the progress of the eagle chick, Mom’s new
house, and how much we like Merv. She spoke of grandkids, how Aunt Pat was
doing, Vi’s good cooking and the fabulous care and comfort she was getting. I
got zinged a few times myself, including once about six weeks ago when I didn’t
get it until I was headlong into my next soliloquy. When I stopped and said “Are you messing with me?” she just twinkled and rocked at her shoulders.
So for me, this is the legacy of Martha Frieda Hansen Howell, sister, wife, mother, grandmother, aunt, neighbor, friend, woman of faith, great wit – that it is up to each of us to make what we will of each day. That we reap what we sow. And whether or not we are happy is our choice. We have had an excellent role model.
No comments:
Post a Comment