Friday, February 6, 2009 4:04 PM CST
COLUMN: It's the good that leads us to grieve, and that's, well, good
By PENNY WEAVER, Night news editor
pweaver@jg-tc.com
The first important person in my life who I remember dying was Grandma Bauer, and I was not quite 15 years old.
Sure, you’re thinking that a column about death can’t be anything but depressing, but warp your mind with me a bit and hang on.
I also remember pretty vividly when my Great Aunt Mae died, but I’ve forgotten if that was before or after Grandma Bauer died in 1985. Mom wouldn’t let me take off school to go to Aunt Mae’s funeral service.
“It’s better to remember her as she was,” Mom advised.
I think that’s a pretty sage suggestion. Who looks forward to filing in their memory that image of someone in their casket?
Actually, I always find that particular memory fading to blur the image of the deceased as the faces of those in close proximity sharpen. Instead of the visual of the earthly remains of that loved one, it’s something like a slide show of their life that lasts there, in my mind.
Grandma Bauer was a quintessential farm woman. She had work-worn hands, from what I can recall, and lived in clothes she’d sewn herself. She was a skilled seamstress who often had a quilt rack set up in the living room with a work in progress spread across it.
She was a great cook — especially pies — and she always had sherbet ice cream in the freezer. To this day, I think of her when I see orange sherbet in the store.
I stayed all night at her house once when I was pretty young, and I remember the cows in the lot by the barn were so close it seemed I could hear them under the house, as if they were in the basement. It was still dark at 6 a.m. or so when I woke up.
The house was quiet. “I’m awake before Grandma!” I thought incredulously, amazed at myself. I dressed quickly and quietly and planned to surprise my sleepy grandmother by my early rising.
When I stepped into the kitchen, she was at the stove. “How many waffles do you want?” she asked brightly. I learned you just can’t get up earlier than Grandma Bauer.
My cousin Troy died the following year, in 1986, when I was just shy of 16 and he was 18. He was killed on his motorcycle — no helmet — a couple of months after his high school graduation.
Few things are more upsetting than a young person dying, not to mention seeing your father burst into tears beside the casket.
But I think of Troy anytime I hear an Ozzie Osbourne song. One of the few things I remember that Troy liked was Ozzie Osbourne, and all I knew about him at the time was something gross about bats.
There are many others. I remember when Grandma Weaver died in 1995. She and I were closer, partly because we were a lot alike and partly because I had more time to know her than Grandma Bauer.
I remember Grandma Weaver in the casket at her funeral, and thinking of her dark hair makes me smile, because she was 85 and didn’t have any gray yet, thanks to, I’m sure, a generic form of Clairol. Dad used to tease her, and I picked up the same line: “I’ve got more gray hair than you do.”
Grandma Weaver always had Little Debbie oatmeal pies at her house. I see them in the store, and I think of her.
Our neighbors, Ruth and Earl, were like our grandparents, too, and I still can’t read a National Enquirer without popping some popcorn to go along with it — that’s what I did almost every Saturday at Ruthie and Earl’s for years.
My dad died in 2006, and I think of him every day. But I usually don’t frown or tear up. I miss him, of course, but I smile when I think of him.
I catch myself repeating many of his funny little sayings, and trying to think like him about certain things because he was so smart about everything from saving money to yard work to maintaining a home.
With another funeral on my calendar this week — seems like there’ve been a lot of those the last couple of years — I vow not to let solemnity linger too long. I truly feel for those left behind, but I hope they can be comforted the most by memories, and by having each other.
Death is just a natural part of life — happens to all of us, sooner or later. Thinking or talking of those who’ve died, discussing details about their funeral services or other moments from their last days, is just natural. Sure, it’s tough; it’s amazingly tough.
But if we didn’t get to know these wonderful people in life, we wouldn’t feel such a deep hole in our very beings when they go before us to what awaits everyone. We may not realize it, but we are lucky to grieve. If we have nothing to grieve, then we’ve had nothing to celebrate.
Someday, maybe I won’t think of Mrs. Dooley when I see Starburst candy, or I will forget that Earl always said Prairie Farms ice cream is the best.
I’ll have no clue that Aunt Mae enjoyed my silly little sixth-grade cartoon drawings, or that, when I worked in the nursing home on the night shift, Grace sat on the commode while Def Leppard sang “Poison Sugar” in the background on MTV.
The brain might let go. The senses may dim. The nerves might misfire.
But the heart holds on. Everyone we love — past, present, future — whether they know or knew that we love them or not, lives inside us when we let them.
For now, I’ll enjoy my orange sherbet and my Little Debbie oatmeal pies and read the National Enquirer and relish the memories they stir. But even when I don’t have that, I’ll still have those precious souls with me.
My heart will always know just how lucky I am to have had these moments, these people, with me. Time and distance and caskets and the physical shell of loved ones don’t hold them.
We do.
Add your comments
Not already registered?
Then click Here.
Comment policy:
JG-TC.com encourages readers to engage in civil conversation with their neighbors. Comments that are submitted are not posted to the site immediately. They go into a queue to be moderated and may take several hours to be reviewed. Comments posted on Saturday may not be reviewed until Sunday afternoon.
In order to keep the page a set width, long lines (mostly long links) will be chopped. Try putting spaces in your links or consider using tinyurl.com to make a smaller link that you can include.
We will never edit or alter your comments, but we do reserve the right to remove comments that violate our code of conduct.
No comment may contain:
* Potentially libelous statements; such as accusing somebody of a crime, defamation of character, or statements that can harm somebody's reputation.
* Obscene, explicit, or racist language.
* Personal attacks, insults, threats, harassment or inciting violence.
* Commercial product promotions.
If you have any questions, please contact our moderator.
|
|
|
|
|
father bob wrote on Feb 5, 2009 12:57 PM: