My apologies, readers, for these past few days of silence. Our family experienced a tragedy this Christmas. My grandmother, Melba (see blog about “The Importance of Memory”) passed away on Christmas Eve afternoon. Her death, at any time, would not have been unexpected…but somehow, it seemed like a surprise. Over the past few days, I find my thoughts continually returning to my grandmother and her death. It is especially haunting during quieter times: like when you are trying to fall asleep, but just end up lying there because sleep won’t come…and there is nothing to do but think.
My grandparents took an extra interest in my life and activities. Because my parents were divorced when I was really young, Grandpa and Grandma Ehrnschwender tried to make up for my dad not being a daily part of my life. They also tried to help mom, because she was the only one of their seven children who was “going it alone”. I don’t remember any first day of school where Grandma was absent. In the early years, she would walk me to and from school for the whole first week. Even during years when we lived far from Ohio, my grandparents would come visit regularly—and were always there for anything remotely significant (like new school years and mom’s hectic seasons at work).
When I was in the sixth grade, mom and I moved back to Findlay, OH…just a few houses down the street from Grandpa and Grandma. I saw them every day of my life from that point onward—during the ordinary times, as well as the extraordinary ones. In those years, my grandparents became like another set of parents to me. They loved me and spoiled me, but they also scolded me and encouraged me to be a better version of myself. They were especially protective of my mother and equally condemning of my “teenage attitude” phase. I cannot recount how many times I heard things like, “You need to be nicer to your mother”, “Your mother works so hard; you need to help her out more around the house”, “Be respectful to your mother”, etc. (Note for mom: I know they drove you crazy and probably overstepped their bounds by giving you advice more often than they should have, but they always had your back! Always!)
There was never a concert or performance that my grandparents missed. When I got dressed up for dances and special events, they took pictures beforehand and smiled proudly. Grandpa always told me that I “sure do clean up well”. Grandma would say I looked “just like an angel”. Somehow, I never questioned their pride—or their faith--in me. It beamed across their faces. People 3,000 miles away could see how much they loved me. There are days where I may question my worth or significance, but there is no doubting that I have been deeply loved.
My most poignant memory of love, in fact, is a memory that I have of my Grandma. She taught me the reality of sacrificial love. My disclaimer is this: there have been many people, throughout my life, who have loved me deeply and sacrificially, but this memory is my first awareness of “selfless love”. This is the memory which keeps coming back to me, especially in the quiet, sleepless hours.
When I was 12 or 13, my other grandma (Luella “Luby” Dietsch) passed away. I had just spent several days at Grandpa and Grandma Dietsch's house (a few miles across town), visiting and having "grandparent bonding time". They dropped me off at my house, after taking me out to lunch. Not three hours after they dropped me off, Grandpa Dietsch called me and told me that Grandma had died. It was the summer and my mom was at work. I guess Grandpa was in shock and didn’t think about the fact that I was a young girl, all by myself…and that the news would be overwhelming to me.
I’m not sure I even shut the door on my way out, I just remember running…running to my grandparents house, with tears streaming down my face--not even able to see because my eyes were so wet and blurry. I couldn’t think of anything besides getting to my grandma. Grandma and Grandpa Ehrnschwender were sitting out on their front porch, as they often did. I ran up the porch steps, fell down on my knees in front of my grandma, buried my face in her lap, and sobbed. In between sobs, I found a way to tell her what had happened. I remember Grandma saying to me, “Oh baby, if I could take your pain myself, I would do it in a heartbeat”.
The most striking thing about that day was looking up at my grandma after she declared she would gladly take my pain. I looked into her eyes and realized that she truly meant what she had said. If we'd had access to some cosmic USB cord that could transfer emotion from one soul to another, my Grandma would have taken my pain into herself. Being that I was a preteen at the time, my whole life was about me. I couldn’t fathom selfless, sacrificial love at that point in my life. Looking in my grandma’s eyes that day, I thought: “She means it. She would really bear all of this pain for me”. It was the first time I remember being aware of a deeper kind of love—a love that gives without thought of the cost.
That penultimate moment of realization has paved the way for deeper understandings of love and sacrifice. Yet, the first time I could get my mind around that kind of love, it was kneeling at the feet of my grandma. I won’t forget the look of love in her eyes that day. That is how I remember my grandma. That is what I think about most in these days since her death.
My grandparents took an extra interest in my life and activities. Because my parents were divorced when I was really young, Grandpa and Grandma Ehrnschwender tried to make up for my dad not being a daily part of my life. They also tried to help mom, because she was the only one of their seven children who was “going it alone”. I don’t remember any first day of school where Grandma was absent. In the early years, she would walk me to and from school for the whole first week. Even during years when we lived far from Ohio, my grandparents would come visit regularly—and were always there for anything remotely significant (like new school years and mom’s hectic seasons at work).
When I was in the sixth grade, mom and I moved back to Findlay, OH…just a few houses down the street from Grandpa and Grandma. I saw them every day of my life from that point onward—during the ordinary times, as well as the extraordinary ones. In those years, my grandparents became like another set of parents to me. They loved me and spoiled me, but they also scolded me and encouraged me to be a better version of myself. They were especially protective of my mother and equally condemning of my “teenage attitude” phase. I cannot recount how many times I heard things like, “You need to be nicer to your mother”, “Your mother works so hard; you need to help her out more around the house”, “Be respectful to your mother”, etc. (Note for mom: I know they drove you crazy and probably overstepped their bounds by giving you advice more often than they should have, but they always had your back! Always!)
There was never a concert or performance that my grandparents missed. When I got dressed up for dances and special events, they took pictures beforehand and smiled proudly. Grandpa always told me that I “sure do clean up well”. Grandma would say I looked “just like an angel”. Somehow, I never questioned their pride—or their faith--in me. It beamed across their faces. People 3,000 miles away could see how much they loved me. There are days where I may question my worth or significance, but there is no doubting that I have been deeply loved.
My most poignant memory of love, in fact, is a memory that I have of my Grandma. She taught me the reality of sacrificial love. My disclaimer is this: there have been many people, throughout my life, who have loved me deeply and sacrificially, but this memory is my first awareness of “selfless love”. This is the memory which keeps coming back to me, especially in the quiet, sleepless hours.
When I was 12 or 13, my other grandma (Luella “Luby” Dietsch) passed away. I had just spent several days at Grandpa and Grandma Dietsch's house (a few miles across town), visiting and having "grandparent bonding time". They dropped me off at my house, after taking me out to lunch. Not three hours after they dropped me off, Grandpa Dietsch called me and told me that Grandma had died. It was the summer and my mom was at work. I guess Grandpa was in shock and didn’t think about the fact that I was a young girl, all by myself…and that the news would be overwhelming to me.
I’m not sure I even shut the door on my way out, I just remember running…running to my grandparents house, with tears streaming down my face--not even able to see because my eyes were so wet and blurry. I couldn’t think of anything besides getting to my grandma. Grandma and Grandpa Ehrnschwender were sitting out on their front porch, as they often did. I ran up the porch steps, fell down on my knees in front of my grandma, buried my face in her lap, and sobbed. In between sobs, I found a way to tell her what had happened. I remember Grandma saying to me, “Oh baby, if I could take your pain myself, I would do it in a heartbeat”.
The most striking thing about that day was looking up at my grandma after she declared she would gladly take my pain. I looked into her eyes and realized that she truly meant what she had said. If we'd had access to some cosmic USB cord that could transfer emotion from one soul to another, my Grandma would have taken my pain into herself. Being that I was a preteen at the time, my whole life was about me. I couldn’t fathom selfless, sacrificial love at that point in my life. Looking in my grandma’s eyes that day, I thought: “She means it. She would really bear all of this pain for me”. It was the first time I remember being aware of a deeper kind of love—a love that gives without thought of the cost.
That penultimate moment of realization has paved the way for deeper understandings of love and sacrifice. Yet, the first time I could get my mind around that kind of love, it was kneeling at the feet of my grandma. I won’t forget the look of love in her eyes that day. That is how I remember my grandma. That is what I think about most in these days since her death.
1 comment:
This is a beautiful post, Tina, and reading it makes me miss your Grandma.
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