Grandma

Last week was sixteen years since my Grandma Lemons passed. I had been meaning to blog about her for awhile, as she is in my thoughts daily, but I couldn't do it last week. Mid-October is a 'raw' time for me -- Grandma passed on October 15, I was married October 19, my uncle was seriously hurt (and later died) from a car crash in mid-October/early-November. As much as I love fall, mid-October is a hard time of year for me.

My Grandma Lemons was a fantastic, kind, funny and fabulous grandmother. She loved to bake and cook for everyone and was an unbelievable hostess. If you wanted or needed for anything in her house, it was because she wasn't home. If she was, she made sure you were fed, you had something to drink, you were warm/cold or whatever.

She was the daughter of two Swedish immigrants, Anna Marie (Giller) and Rudolph Hedstrom, who came over from Stockholm in 1900. She was the fourth of five children -- and, by the time she was born, my great-grandparents were living in Door Village, Indiana (just outside of La Porte) and they were not teaching their children Swedish anymore, to prevent their children from being left behind at school. Her father died when she was young and her mother went on to marry again.

She had three daughters: Aunt N, Aunt J and Mom. Mom is the youngest by 17 and 15 years respectively and as a result, I have cousins that are between 9-14 years older than I am. There are six cousins all together: T, M, D, B, me and Sister.

Grandma was diagnosed with a reoccurrance of cancer the summer before I went to college. She had breast cancer when I was a kid, and had survived, but this time it was caught too late. It had metatisized from her breast to lung, to liver to brain. In four months she was gone and to this day I miss her still.

Her laughter, her jokes, her way of clearing her throat ... all silly things to miss, but miss them I do. Her clear blue eyes were 'home' for me and when I think of her, I think of that smile and those eyes.

And I miss her homemade Swedish meatballs. Why oh Why did I not learn that recipe?

*****

After I went to school that fall, 12 hours and 800 miles away, I did not think I'd get to see her again. The cancer that had so recently been discovered was ravaging her by the minute. I could not afford, and nor could my family afford, to bring me back home to see her. Each time I'd call home, I'd ask how she was and finally, a family friend told me what my own family would not: the end was nearer than I had known.

I cried myself to sleep that night, wishing with all my might that I was back in La Porte, back with my family and most of all, to see my Grandma again.

Unbeknownst to me, my roommate and friends had begun a collection. A dollar here, a dollar there ... pretty soon it added up to enough to fly me back to Chicago and get me home. They called me out into the suite and told me of what they had done and how I'd get to see my Grandma. Even now this brings tears to my eyes as I remember so clearly the selflessness of my friends and how, in my time of need, they gave me what I wanted most: to see my Grandma.

A few days later I was on my way to Kansas City in the car of another friend who had volunteered to take me to the airport and pick me up four days later. I was on my way home.

When I saw my Grandma, obviously so weak and dying, it was hard. I did not ever want to see her hurting and seeing her like this was crippling to me. She knew who I was, was glad to see me and we were able to tell each other we loved each other. I was able to spend a long weekend in La Porte and see her -- and for that, I am ever grateful to my friends at Cottey. After I returned to Cottey -- she passed, quietly and peacefully a few days later. I did not come home for the funeral (as there was no money for me to do so) but when I got home that fall, I went to her grave. It was quiet and peaceful there and she was where she wanted to be, back in Door Village, next to her parents in the small cemetery there.

Later that Christmas, I learned from that same family friend that Grandma stopped being able to speak the day after I left. It was truly a miracle that I was able to see her when I did. There are not enough 'thank yous' in the world to express my gratitude to my friends at Cottey for giving me such an amazing gift.

*****

Like I said, I miss her still. At this time of year we'd be raking her leaves, bagging them up (although she much preferred to burn them ... she was a pyro, my Grandma), and welcoming my Sister and I into her house for hot cocoa and cookies.

Love you Grandma ---

*****

This week Sister brought me a scrapbook Mom had made me over the years with everything from cards from my baby shower (35 years old now) to Valentines I'd received in grade school. The most precious things in the scrapbook were the cards, valentines and notes from relatives now gone from this world. Seeing my Grandma's signature again brought immediate tears to my eyes and I realized just how much I missed her all over again.