When Your Family Gets Smaller

Last week, I said my final good-bye to my grandma, Ruth. She was the last living grandparent I had, and my world feels a bit smaller now. 

My grandfather, Wilford, was the first grandparent of mine to die when I was in the third grade. My mom worked at a school and told a co-worker about his passing. One of the meanest boys in school overheard the conversation and promptly approached me in study hall. 

"Your grandpa died," he said almost gleefully. I assume he was thrilled to be the first one to share the news with me. 

I was confused and unsure if he was telling me the truth. My mom was waiting until the end of the school day to tell me. I had never been confronted with the reality of death. Still as an adult, it's hard to process at times. 

It's been many years since Wilford passed. I barely remember much about him; most of my memories are shaped by stories from other people. 

Grandpa Ernie was the next grandparent I lost. I was in college when he passed away. Ernie and his wife, Ruby, lived a few miles from my house. I spent much of my childhood at their home. I climbed trees in their yard, looked for frogs, went fishing in their pond, and numerous other "country" activities. Ernie was a gentle spirit and often showed me his latest project. Ruby taught me to sew on an antique sewing machine; she was always making something. She fixed the most delicious spaghetti sauce, which I always requested when given the chance. Ruby made giant pancakes the size of a large plate. I watched her do it many times as a child, but now as an adult, I'm lost as to how she made those perfect pancakes. I had the distinguished honor of being the only grandchild she ever spanked. I was playing too rough with my brother and her paddle had to intervene. Ruby lived to age 90, and she still talked about my act of disobedience even then. I think I apologized for that momentary act of defiance for over 30 years. When she died, I was married with my two children.  

Ruth was the only grandparent I had left. I had regular visits with Ruth as a child, but I got to know her better as a teenager. She moved in with my parents when I was in high school. With her came an assortment of cow figures and collectibles; much of her life was spent on a dairy farm. Ruth introduced me to cross-stitching, and she was amazing on the sewing machine as well. Ruth and I had many conversations over the years as I finished college, got married, and had children. 

 

The last conversation I had with my grandmother was easy to remember, September 11. I was charged with the task of getting her to eat something for her evening meal while my parents were out for a few hours. When I arrived, she was sitting at her spot at the kitchen table. When I lived in this house, my spot was just left of hers. Ruth told me that she wasn't hungry and wanted that to be the end of it. 

"I have to get you to eat or my mom will be mad at me," I replied determined to do my job. 

I rummaged through the refrigerator offering up suggestions based upon what I found. Grandma declined them all. I opened the pantry and jokingly started naming off things I discovered. 

"Do you want carrots?"

"No."

"Do you want a granola bar?"

"No," she said with a chuckle. 

"Do you want popcorn?" (She loved popcorn.)

"Nothing sounds good," she said.

"Do you want a Little Debbie snack? Green beans? Soup?"

Then I moved to the freezer and found the food that Ruth ultimately relented to eating most likely because she saw I wasn't going to give up.

I popped the frozen turkey dinner in the microwave and gathered up the utensils she would need. She made brief conversation with me while the microwave hummed in the background. She looked surprisingly well considering the state she had been in a day or two prior. 

At the long beep, I stirred the food and carefully placed it in front of Ruth. I said good-bye as I rushed off to get back to my daughter who was being entertained by her cousins next door. That quick good-bye was our last interaction here on Earth.  

The world feels strange right now. When I saw Ruth's empty chair at the kitchen table last week, my mind pretended she was napping in her room and that this wasn't final. I am, however, grateful that both of my grandmas lived to their 90s. I am blessed that I am 40 years old and have both of my parents. Many people aren't so fortunate. 

The family feels a little smaller as these and other important losses have occurred over the years. Yet, I see my nephews and nieces growing up and getting older. In them, there are possibilities for our family to expand. 

For my 4 grandparents that are no longer here, I look to heaven and say a prayer of thanks for the ways they have shaped my life.