Gram

I've written about Gram before. You can get a glimpse of her here, or here. Her birthday is in February, and this was to be her 100th birthday. Can you imagine? I can't. I've known many people in my life, but none who had the vigor and wit and inner strength of Gram. But in spite of the strength of her spirit, her body was just worn out. Gram passed away during the night, on December 30th.

I've sat here for several days, trying to find the words. But they aren't coming. Gram was nearly 100 years old. I have only known her for 13 years. Everything I know and love about her is only a very, very small portion of who she is, and what others love so very much about her. How can I sum up something as large as that?

Gram raised six children. She always said four girls and two boys was the perfect family for her. Her daughters are all amazing women, and the kind of living legacy that makes you teary-eyed just thinking of the amount of love, fortitude, humor, wit, generosity and kindness that had to have been embodied in one woman for her to raise such incredible women. And share them with the world. How humbling.

Gram was always busy, always productive. Nothing would make her cranky quicker than not being able to *do* something. She loved to visit with people, tell stories, listen to stories, share jokes. She loved poetry and literature. She loved nature, and animals. She loved her family. She loved to be doing, going, sharing. Even when macular degenration took her eyesight, she still crocheted up until very near the end. She made blankets for each of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Even down to Jase, who is the youngest. He has a Gram blanket. I'm not sure I can part with it, though, so maybe we won't tell him, just yet, that it's his?

Years ago, she took it upon herself to teach me how to knit, tat, and crochet. She's never had a poorer pupil. Willing, but somewhat dexterously daft, to be honest. Part of it was that I spent so much time wrapped up in just watching her, listening to the stories she told while she worked, that I forgot I was supposed to be doing something, myself. Stories of her childhood, traveling across the country. She loved living in Vermont. I think those memories were her happiest of her own childhood. Stories of her time at school, her time teaching, her time spent raising the children in a boxcar... I will cherish the time I spent sitting on the couch with Gram, my fingers cramped up and yarn knotted around my ankles, listening to Gram's stories. I still can't knit. Or tat. But I know my family, and the boys' histories, a little better because of her.

Life can wear a soul down. Or it can lift a soul up. Gram had a dogged, fierce determination that Life is Good. There is, quite simply, no two ways about it. Like the complex blending of flavors in an excellent meal, Life needs all of it; it needs the bitter and the sweet, the tough and the tender, in order to be truly spectacular. You cannot embrace the one and resent the other. Not if you want to be truly happy.

That was, from my shortened perspective, one of the greatest things about Gram: Life is Good. All of it.

We're all better off for her time on this earth, and the lives she's touched will go on to touch other lives, and so on, in a ripple that will continue to make the world more beautiful with every ring that extends outward into the world.

Goodbye, Gram. You are loved.

Kiss those babies, grams, families, friends... because they are beautiful, and life is beautiful.
~Dy