Grandma

     She always smelled like flowers.  She always grew flowers.  Beautiful flowers.  I remember the lily of the valley just outside the side door to the house.  And mixed in were the wild violets.  I'm not sure how, but the love of violets trickled down to all of us.  There were tulips of every color, and others I didn't know the names of, and the Clematis.  Oh, the Clematis were her flower pride.  Brilliant purple.  When I got a house, I wanted Clematis somewhere.  The Bleeding Hearts leading into the "front" door were so fun to squeeze.  They always popped back.  Today, my heart is squeezed and it's not popping back.  My Grandma Jessie Mae Callahan Sanderson passed at age 93, last nite.
     I think she was more than a grandmother somehow.  We travelled from Stockton to Galena every Saturday to visit her.  Galena became my second hometown--she another mother.  She was stern when needed and comical in an ever so nonchalant way.  What Grandma said, she meant.  No punches, no lies.  A strong woman out of need at a young age. 
     She was born in 1917.  The middle of seven children.  Well, somewhere around the middle.  Her mother died when she was young.  She mothered her siblings at age 13.  Her stepmother sent her packing.  Although I'm not clear on the whole story, I think that's the gist.  I know she had an eye disorder that required strong lenses to correct and getting those glasses was next to impossible.  But, she got them, and had beautiful, but sad eyes.
     She lived through six wars.  Her opinions on those wars I do not know.  She sent two of her sons into service.  Both returned home.  She gave birth to five children.  She was a twin, who's counterpart was lost.  She said once, that she did, as the reports said, feel the presence of her twin.
     She was all American.  Patriotic.  Love of country.  Grateful to it's protectors.  When 9-11-01 happened she cried with the rest of us, and was inspired to write yet another poem to commemorate its significance.  She was a poet laureate.  Published, no less.  Her book, "Fireflies" sold many, many copies.  I am grateful to have received her gift of word.  At one point, she and I were published in the same Anthology.  What an honor.
     I remember holidays at her house.  The smell of ham, or turkey pushing it's way through the door when it was opened.  The table was always set for the holiday and she had personal touches at every place.  Homemade name cards.  Some with glitter.  Colored eggs with our names on them.  The Christmas cookies!!  Oh that "secret" recipe of Grandma Eustice....actually published in the paper!  No secret anymore...outstanding.  Christmas Eve was the night of magic, when the gifts were exchanged.  After everyone has opened theirs, the share began with her inquiries as to what everyone had received. 
     As a child, I remember our trips to Grandma Sanderson's.  If you got there at lunch, you ate whatever was on the table.  And it was always something good.  Even leftovers taste better at Grandma's.  After lunch we took a trip downtown.  At the time, Galena was a regular town.  An A&P, a dime store, a pharmacy, several bars, and tons of antique shops.  Of course, being given a quarter or fifty cents made Ben Franklin my favorite store.  Oh, the paper dolls I bought on Grandma's quarters!  But we visited all the stores, and I became mildly knowledgeable about antiques.  Those stores always smelled funny, but the treasures were unbelievable.
     For a week every summer, even as I became a young adult, I spent it at Grandma's.  As I laid in Aunt Maureen's old bed, I was awakened by the morning doves and the smell of Grandpa's coffee brewing.  In the distance, I could hear the train travelling its mission.  Later in the day, just to pass the time, I would walk downtown, over the train tracks...the smell of tar...still takes me back.  As I got older my trips would include the pharmacy, just to fawn over the help.  I can't tell you what we had for supper.  I'm sure it was wonderful, as Grandpa had put in a hard day at the Mobil station, and needed sustenance.
    Funny the things you remember.  Laying out in the backyard when I was 19 and Grandpa making a comment about my growing up.  Staying the week with Janet and going downtown and speaking gibberish to make people think we were tourists.  Listening to the DeFrancos and swooning over their pictures in the Music Lyrics magazine I'd purchased.  Janet and I doing dishes and singing "Rock The Boat" in harmony.  And Uncle Jim telling us we should be in a group.
     She was always dressed to the nines.  Even at home.  But a special event, brought out her best broaches and earrings.  Matched perfectly to her outfit.  A very classy lady.
     She bowled for years.  Once retired, she enjoyed trips to Minnesota, Texas and...yep...Vegas.  Oh did she love the slots!  She brought that love home and spread it around the Dubuque hangouts.  She golfed for awhile, not learning until her 70's (60's?).  It became another adventure and joy.
     She suffered a stroke not long before her 90th birthday.  It was devastating to those of us that knew her as the spunky do-it-all lady.  She spent her final years in a nursing home, giving joy---and frustration--- to the aids and nurses.  Her greatest advocate was Aunt Reen.  Reen rode that staff like a rodeo pro.  And Grandma got qualified care as a result.
     On the 29th of September we celebrated my mother's conquer of another year in the nursing home as the result of a stroke.  On that day Grandma was preparing, I think, for her reunion with her love and best dance partner, Grandpa.  We, of course prayed for recovery, but something inside of me said that she had had it with this nonsense.  When Janet called this morning, I was not surprised at the news.  Just very sad.  She'd had many wonderful years and memories with those of us that loved her, but her release to God was her prayer, I think.  A new world filled with violet fields, cardinals feeding at her heavenly bird feeder.  And dancing.  The Shag.  With Grandpa...finally.
     She will be put to rest on Tuesday.  I hope there are no yellow ribbons....she really hated yellow.  Really.
     Love you Grandma.  Tell Grandpa and the gang we think of them often.
     Godspeed.