Easter and Remembering My Grandma

Easter flowers at the Provo temple

At the end of March, my sweet Grandma Black, my mom's mom, passed away. Her health had been declining, but she went downhill pretty rapidly at the end. A few days before she left us, Georgie asked and asked to visit "Grandma Great" and I was so grateful we did. It was just for a few minutes, but I'm glad I got to see her and tell her I love her and I'd see her again soon. 

Grandma always had tulips in her yard - this picture was for her.

Easter was that next weekend after her passing, and it was especially poignant for us. Helping Georgie understand what both "death" and "resurrection" meant brought into focus the importance of Easter and the reality and tangibility of why we celebrate it. 

Grandma's funeral was the day after Easter, and it was both sweet and sad. All of her children spoke, and then two of my cousins and I shared some short memories from the grandkids. My mom's cousin Cathy sang the song my dad arranged for my cousin Nigel's funeral, which she then sang at my dad's funeral. That part was especially hard to get through because of the memories it brought up, but overall, it really was a sweet funeral. 

It was and is hard to think about being without Grandma, but I'm also so aware that, more than with any other goodbye that I've experienced, her family was waiting for her to rejoin them and she really and truly is home. From the time we knew she did not have much longer to be with us, I had my perspective broadened to see and remember that while we're here on earth, we are actually away from home, and that now Grandma gets to be back with so many people she knew and loved.

Rather than writing up new memories, here's what I shared at the funeral:

In trying to pick a memory to share of Grandma Black, I found myself sifting through years of sweet memories, and little tidbits came to the surface—her special “jumbo” cookies, a long line of stockings at Christmas, matching pajamas for the grandkids and other handmade gifts, new works of art on the walls, camping and hiking in Southern Utah and taking refuge in the motorhome when it rained—the list goes on. I asked my siblings, Rachel and Ethan, for their memories of Grandma, and their answers matched what came to my mind as well. We remember how much a part of our lives Grandma was, and how much she cared for us. In spite of not always being able to hear us, she engaged and participated in our lives. We remember her love of beauty, expressed especially in her paintings, and her cooking—she’d never let you leave the table without second or third helpings. And we especially remember the cabin in Star Valley, Wyoming, and what a magical place it was. As cousins, it was our ticket to adventure and exploration and pure childhood fun. There is one specific memory from Wyoming that I cherish and would like to share.

We always traveled to Star Valley during the summer months, but some years, we also braved the Wyoming snow to spend Thanksgiving at the cabin. Sledding was our activity of choice, and one year, we discovered a perfect sledding hill on one of the back mountain roads a few minutes away from the cabin. The hill was about a quarter of a mile long, and just steep enough at the top that you could ride it all the way down, assuming your sled didn’t dump you into a snowbank on the sides of the road first. We had a collection of sleds of various sizes and styles. One of the sleds was a Flexible Flyer—a small, wooden sled on runners, which meant the rider was sitting up off the ground by a few inches, steering with his or her feet, and holding on for dear life to a rope tied to the front of the sled, all of which made this sled both exhilarating and slightly terrifying.

Grandma usually came with us to our sledding hill, and occasionally, would even take a run down the hill herself. And there was one time, as the cousins and aunts and uncles were claiming sleds and forming trains, that the Flexible Flyer was left unoccupied, so Grandma said, “I’ll take that one!” Those of us still at the top helped her get settled on it a little nervously, as we could only imagine what would happen to our 70-something grandmother if she crashed, and held our collective breath as she pushed off. She went down the initial drop, then as she came out of it, we could hear her, joyfully screaming her lungs out, EEEEEEEEE, all the way (safely) down the hill. I’ve always remembered that moment, not only because it made me laugh, but because I admired then, as I do now, how Grandma was game to join in the adventure, no matter what it was; how she took on challenges that were both exhilarating and slightly terrifying; and how she joyfully and whole-heartedly took part in her own life, throughout her life. Thank you, Grandma, for showing us how to do it and for sharing yourself with us. We love you and miss you.

Nana with her three grandbabes in their matching Easter dresses.