I held a deep connection with my grandmother on my mom's side, Granny, or Grannikins as we sometimes called her. Granny grew up in Zeeland, MI, in a Dutch Reform family where things were sophisticated and fancier and you got dressed up for dinner and used doilies on the table.
Granny lived an interesting life. She moved to Plymouth, MI, and fell in love with Cannon Ball Wall, aka Pop, as a young woman. They were married when she was around 20. By the time she was 27, she had 4 children and lived in an exquisite home built for my grandparents by Frank Lloyd Wright. Even with the unique house and beautiful young family, Granny's heart longed for her life back in Zeeland.
Somewhere in their 30s, Pop's company went belly up and the couple kind of switched roles. Pop still worked but stayed home with the children more, baking homemade bread and making candy in the kitchen. Granny got her real estate license and held the family together, even paying for college for 3 of their kids. She was extremely good at it!
A few decades later, when I came into the picture, Granny was a mainstay in my life. She adored all of her grandchildren and had a special knack for making each one of us feel like her favorite. Did your grandparents also have this gift?
Granny and Pop would come over on Saturdays in the spring, armed with Whopper Jrs. from Burger King, Coca Colas and french fries for all of us. We would sit outside overlooking the lake and eat our lunch together. They would stay to help clean up the yard and flowerbeds, and give the outdoor furniture a fresh coat of paint. Granny would deep clean our kitchen, even moving each item off of the counter to give the everything a thorough scrub.
Grandparents Day at school, overnights in Plymouth, singing classical Christmas songs with my aunts and cousins as Granny played the organ. Crystal bowls full of gum drops, jelly beans and caramels lined her kitchen. Homemade doll houses and wooden chests, a bag full of Cheerios for the drive home "in case I got hungry," and Granny's typical move of trying to load up my Mom's car with anything and everything when it was time for us to head home.
When I went off to college I lived closer to Granny and Pop, only about 15 minutes away. I would stop by for lunch almost every week and bring my laundry from the dorm. We would sit at their small round kitchen table with the lazy-susan in the middle. It was covered with trinkets, doilies, and fancy napkins for the current season. Granny would make her famous tuna fish sandwiches with crunchy lettuce. There were always potato chips, pickles and canned fruit all in different little fancy bowls. Pop would tell me about his latest woodworking ideas and Granny would ask me about college life and try to over feed me.
After lunch, Pop usually read the paper in the window nook and I would lay on their uncomfortable couch with the scratchy blanket and all of the stiff throw pillows. Sometimes Granny would sit next to me and rub my back with her long pretty fingernails.
It felt like home.
For years Granny and I were penpals, writing letters to one another every week. I loved getting the mail and seeing her perfect penmanship on an envelope addressed to me. Without fail, she always included the pages of the Daily Word for that week and a $5 or $10 dollar bill. Once in awhile I would send her a few bucks back just to make her smile.
In 2017, Granny passed away at the age of 94. She was my last grandparent to cross over and I would say she had a beautiful life. When I went to her funeral, I could not stop crying. I had to ask my sister to read the memories I had wanted to share with the audience because I could not speak. I cried the entire day, that night, the next day and on and off for months. But they weren't tears of grief, so much as of gratitude and the realization that it was the end of an era.
I have deep gratitude for my long and enjoyable relationship with my grandmother. Knowing how the smell of her kitchen made my shoulders drop. How the familiarity of her handwriting was a thoughtful reminder that I was always loved no matter where I lived. How the sound of an organ intertwined with the harmony of my relatives voices created the melody of my family's history, stretching back in time.
I still sleep soundly every night under the heaviness of the brightly colored afghan she crocheted for me years ago. I love you, Grannikins.
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