My dad recently decided to sell the old family homestead. The last time I was there was right after the death of my precious grandmother. The house was to be rented, and my job was to clean it before the new tenants arrived. The task proved to be more difficult than I had imagined.
When I was a child I always knew grandma would be waiting for me on the front porch. As she got older, she would greet me at the door. When she started to become frail I would let myself in, but she was always anticipating my arrival and her beautiful face was the first thing I would see. This was the first time in my life that she wasn’t there to greet me.
As I was vacuuming, I saw a small pill buried in the carpet. I held it in my hand, remembering all the times I would move her chair and look for pills she thought she had dropped.
As I swept the upstairs, I remembered sitting on the edge of the bed with her and crying over some old photos we found shortly after my grandpa died.
As I cleaned the downstairs bedroom, I remembered the morning we found my grandfather had passed away in their bed. And I remembered holding her hand when, for the first night in 44 years, she went to bed without him.
As I sat in the dining room floor, eating the lunch I had packed, I remembered hiding under the table and playing peek-a-boo with her. Another time, I hid there because I was afraid of a thunderstorm. But she sat in a chair next to the table and sang, “Oh, Jesus is the rock in a weary land, a shelter in the time of storm.”
As I wiped out the kitchen cabinets I removed the different items that had been taped inside. The recipe for friendship bread, the list of foods she couldn’t have on her renal diet, and an old “Hello My Name Is” tag that my grandpa had stuck there after some event he attended. He’d passed away 14 years earlier, and she never had the heart to take it down. Now it was my responsibility.
As I vacuumed the room she used for storage, I picked a Christmas ornament hook out of the carpet. The Christmas memories came flooding back. We baked hundreds of cookies every year. She kept tins of every child and grandchilds’ favorite Christmas treat. Mine was the Peanut Butter Blossoms with the Hershey kiss in the center. Even though my parents were quite poor, I always got the one item I wanted most for Christmas — Roller skates, a fancy jewelry box, Dancerella doll — she made it all possible.
As I sat on the front porch, listening to the birds and smelling the fresh after-rain smell that takes me back to childhood, I remembered when she brought my little table and chairs outside and we had a fancy tea party.
Then I noticed the hundreds of dents in the aluminum siding, just behind the old porch swing. I remembered how she would say, “We mustn’t let the swing bang the house or your Poppaw will be upset!” Then we would crash into it again because I wanted to go higher.
I sat on the porch steps and looked out over the yard. There used to be a huge garden and a strawberry patch. I remembered working in the garden, and saving earth worms for my uncle’s fishing. Grandma pulled one out of the ground and exclaimed, “I found a big one!” Then flung it across the yard because it was a snake!
We canned vegetables and jellies and jams. We picked gooseberries and raspberries and rhubarb for pies. We snapped beans while sitting in the porch swing. We made homemade strawberry ice cream on the side porch.
I walked out to the mailbox one more time. Not because I thought there would be any mail, but because I walked it so many times with my grandma. She always wore one of her many head scarves when she went to get the mail, and I always got to pick one too. My favorite was bright pink, and she would tie it snugly under my chin before we set out.
The memories were overwhelming and precious. I felt deep sorrow and yet such thankfulness to God that I was blessed all those years with this wonderful woman as my grandmother. I hope the new owner of her house makes as many precious memories for his own family.
Ginger is an author, speaker and mother of five. Contact her at ginger@gingertruitt.com.
Columns
Related Photos
-
LIF LR022013 truitt update.jpg
Reader comments
Memories not for sale
- Columns
-
-
A tribute to my mentor, friend
I am often asked how I got started writing a weekly column. Many folks assume that I have a degree in journalism, and that this gig is something I picked up on the way to a more serious newspaper career.
-
Hitting the Wall
Sometimes when I am trying to think of an idea for my column, I just stare at the wall. That’s not a bad thing, because on the wall in my home office is a collection of special pieces of memorabilia that inspire me to write, reminding me of the talented people I have had the privilege to meet ...
-
Flexibility act would work over families
Another bit of legislation ostentatiously framed as support for families has slithered out of the House of Representatives by a pretty-much party-line vote, with lamentable support from Rep. Todd Rokita, R-Much of Boone County.
-
Guests at a Belizean happy ever after
Due to the hubs’ work, we have been to Belize many times over the past seven years. Two particular families have extended incredible hospitality to us, and always welcome us with open arms.
Last month, we were overjoyed to hear that these two families would be united as their adult children had fallen in love. They said it was my fault. Apparently, I had inadvertently played cupid. -
Understanding bird calls over lunch with a friend
One afternoon in 2011, my friend Eric spent a couple of hours over lunch explaining Twitter to me and I thought I understood it all, but as you’ll see from my first few tweets, I wasn’t very confident.
-
Solitary moments
As a writer and TV reporter I have received praise and criticism of my work. Over the years, I have tried to benefit from both, but some recent feedback came from an unlikely source. It has been quite a joyful learning experience for me. So on a serious note this week…
-
A blast from the past
We had been warned by the school counselor not to do it the first year of college because it could emotionally scar our daughter. But she is now wrapping up her second year, and will be doing an international internship for the entire summer.
-
The right to bear lawn equipment
I have never aerated my lawn. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever written the word “aerated” before. If I did I am sure I misspelled it. I think I accidentally went from liquefy to aerate while making a strawberry shake in our blender.
-
Hope helps heal the pain of death
Fifteen years ago today, we celebrated my mother’s life at her funeral. Because she was a school teacher, it was a grand funeral with hundreds of people in attendance.
-
Moose calls
Warning: There’s another case of food impropriety in the news. A popular frozen dinner option is being removed from ovens over in Scandinavia in another half-baked scandal.
-
Conn. Commuter Trains Collide; 60 Go to Hospital
Coffee Run Leads to Hatchet Hitchhiker Arrest
Fmr. IRS Head Insists No Politics in Targeting
CDC: Fecal Bacteria Common in Swimming Pools
$1 Million in Jewels Stolen at Cannes Film Fest
NM Mom Chases Down Child Abductor
Raw: Crash Sends Car Into Fla. Pool
Raw: Obama Sits Down With Elementary Kids
Raw: Bear Falls From Tampa Tree
Ousted IRS Chief: Errors Not Caused by Politics
Terror Suspect Due in Court in Idaho Friday
Raw: Driver Ejected From Truck, Over Bridge
Could Tobacco Be the Next Biofuel?
Wash. State Releases Draft Rules for Legal Pot
Dying Man's Blinks Lead to Murder Conviction
Officials: Texas Tornado Likely Had 200 Mph Wind
Brothers Arrested in NOLA Parade Shooting
Raw: School Bus Crash Injures Five Children
Quick Response Saved Baby on Phila. Train Tracks
One Million Evacuated As Cyclone Hits Bangladesh
