A Tribute to "Grandma"

Her stories are fascinating. The adventures she had when she was younger make my heart pound. I imagine myself right by her side as she dared to step out on a limb in the tree of life! I would've been there with her if she wouldn't have been born 48 years before me! I'm in my 40's, experiencing the prime of my life and she's nearing the end of hers. She is my best friend, her name is Betty, and she is my grandma.

Two days before Christmas we make our last batch of shortbread. It's her tradition. The flour, butter, powdered sugar and vanilla are all in a bowl and she instructs me to mix it with my hands. "Remember to only use your hands so it will have the perfect texture," she says. As I knead the four ingredients together, I sneak a peek at her hands. She can't do this anymore. The arthritis has taken over her once strong grip. "Ok, that's good, Dear," she says. "Divide it in ½ and press it in these two pans." I do as I am told then fetch her a knife and fork. She cuts the dough into eight equal pieces for each pan, and then pricks out her distinct design with the fork. "There, now into the oven," she says with a smile. Soon we smell the sweet aroma coming from the oven.

Everyone loves this woman. She is not judgmental; accepting anyone from all walks of life. She has shown me and my family what it is to be truly unselfish. She exhibits giving wholeheartedly, expecting nothing in return but friendship.

The kids and I make sure we visit her every Sunday at 3 p.m. – after her lunch and nap. Her grandkids eat ice cream and drink soda while Grandma and I visit. Sometimes, weather permitting, we will sit in her yard and have a picnic with chicken, potatoes and coleslaw.

She loves to hunt and fish, but Grandma can no longer enjoy it because of her aging body. She longs to hear what others have caught or killed, to be included in their tales, and is just as excited for them as if it had been her holding the pole or gun!

Grandma follows all of the local High School football and basketball games on the radio. Her days of attending them in person are gone so she cheers on her grandkids from her recliner. She is so proud.

Come Prom and other formal dances, her grandkids always appear at her door to show off their beautiful dresses and handsome tuxedos. Grandma expects them to, and takes lots of pictures. She has even loaned her car out for the evening on occasion!

Grandma has a car, but can no longer drive. Her eyesight has diminished greatly. I take her to her doctors' appointments out of town. There is talking, laughing and reminiscing, all the way. We always stop for a bite to eat before heading back home. She used to order a bacon cheeseburger every time. Now it's a cup of soup. She is great company and the trips go by quickly.

She loves birds and, I swear, the birds love her. There are bird feeders and a birdbath in Grandma's yard. Her feathered friends build nests in her carport so she can observe them as they care for their young. They sing to her.

Sometimes, I show up in tears. Grandma will hug me and get me a cup of coffee that is always made. We will sit and talk about my stress until I feel better. Then she will pat my hand and say, "Life is too short. Enjoy it."

Today Grandma is going to a retirement home. My cousins, aunt, uncle, husband and friends are moving her belongings. They are taking as many items as will fit to her new room so she can feel somewhat at home. It's just me and her sitting in her living room as they all drive away with piles of stuff to be unloaded. "I don't want to go," she says sadly. "I know," I say. "You don't have to. We can stop this." She shakes her head and whispers, "It's time." Then silence. We look at each other and watch one another's tears roll down our faces. No words, no sounds, just tears. I have never felt closer to my grandma than right now. We know this is it. Nothing will be the same. The end is near.

I am at work, but am checking in with my aunt on a regular basis. Grandma is in the hospital and is so close to Heaven's gates, I'm sure she hears the angels singing. Finally, I get the call. She's gone. I rush to the hospital and lay next to her, but it's just her body. For a moment, I become selfish and cry because I want her back. I want to go fishing with her. I want to go on trips with her. I want to spend next Sunday afternoon with her. I want her to enjoy my kids' sports; I need her to hug me and drink coffee with me and tell me "life is too short!" Life is too short.

The funeral is sad, of course. My best friend has been taken. I squeeze my husband's hand and wrap one arm around my youngest son as we sit in the church pew. The next thing I know we are at the cemetery. The pastor is reading from the Bible and I am so heartbroken I can hardly breathe. Above the sound of the pastor's voice, I hear something much more comforting. Birds are chirping. They are in the trees and are singing the songs that they have always sang to Grandma! The graveside service is over and the birds keep singing. "Mom," my daughter's voice breaks my concentration. I look down upon her upturned face to acknowledge her. "Is it 2 days until Christmas?" "Yes," I say, kneeling in front of her. "Let's go home and make shortbread."

(Author's note: The last paragraph was written to symbolize tradition.)