As I combed Grandma's thin white hair around the bandages where the doctor removed patches of skin cancer, I remembered her combing my white-blonde preschool-age hair, unsure what to do with this little girl she was watching while Mom and Dad were away on a week's vacation. A tomboy herself, Grandma only had one child, my dad, and all his cousins were boys.Despite her reservations and inexperience with little girls, she never had any problem treating me as her little princess, though I think it brought her great comfort that I liked playing with Dad's old lincoln logs and was willing to run around in the yard with my brother and the neighbor kids. Even so, she bought me dolls and dresses and at the age of three or four, a beautiful little yellow coat complete with puffy balls on the end of the hood strings and a muff to keep my hands warm. Grandma took us to the zoo and the Science Center; I accompanied her to the beauty shop and the grocery store. She'd send us out to play and call us in for peanut butter and jelly or homeade soup. We licked off the cookie beaters and when I asked for the whole turkey leg at Thanksgiving dinner when I was probably 6 or 7 years old, that's what I got.
Even at a young age, I knew Grandma had arthritis. I didn't really know what it was, just that her fingers were all sorts of knobby and crooked. We were thrilled to have her walk down the aisle at our wedding four years ago - at that point she was still pretty strong. As Jason's wedding neared last fall, we weren't sure whether or not she would be able to handle the drive. But she was there, smiling through the pain and the growing discomfort from incurable incontinence. And though she desperately would have like to dance at the reception, she was overjoyed that Grandpa could dance with that little girl that she once really didn't know what to do with.
My grandpa is a good man. Having grown up in the depression, he's incredibly frugal, but also incredibly generous and charitable. He has always made it very clear how much he values solid education, proper grammar and a good book. A man who keeps a dictionary at his side when he reads the daily paper (picking out all the errors as he goes), he used to pay Jason and me each a dollar for every book report we wrote for him. Grandpa recorded educational programs and gave them to Mom and Dad. One of the first times he met Luke, he said "did you know Tiffany graduated Summa Cum Laude?" He was tickled pink when he found out that Luke had as well.
A smart man, and an honest man - and a man with a bit of an ornery streak. Especially in our regular battles on the cribbage board. And as we drove to St. Louis for the doctor appointments yesterday, everyone else on the road was either an imbecile or a cowboy.
Grandpa is a stellar golfer and quite the fisherman. Having worked for the IRS, his understanding of money and taxes baffles me. He keeps up the yard, and reads anything and everything. But other than his famous oatmeal, he's never cooked a day in his life and wouldn't have the slightest idea when it comes to starting the laundry - he's never had to because Grandma has always taken great care of him. Now Grandpa is slowing down a bit. His reaction time has slowed, and his memory is slowly fading. He beat himself up because he couldn't remember the name of one of his medications. When we play cribbage he has a harder time counting his points. And I'm not sure how many times he asked me yesterday how many miles I have on my tires on my car.
I love my grandparents. As I've spent more time with them recently - real, conversational, caring time - I've learned what truly fascinating lives they've led. Grandpa tells me stories of his time in the military. They talked of their first homes, and how their town is evolved, and as we drove past the local lakes, they talked of how they used to walk to the town swimming holes and spend the days there in their childhoods.
There is such a richness to these times, but it is oh so bittersweet. Grandpa is 87 and Grandma just turned 85. I can no longer crawl into their laps or hug them tightly. Grandma can hardly lift her arms and sends Grandpa out for most of the errands. She still cooks, but the basic chopping and lifting and moving around are getting increasingly harder. Many of their friends have long since passed, so much of their social time occurs during their trips to St. Louis to visit with doctors of every sort and variety. Time is at a minimal - although it feels as though it stands still when we begin to talk. And for the first time, Grandpa and I were able to talk in depth about my Jesus. How I wish I could say his Jesus. I wish and pray that Grandma and Grandpa would come to know the goodness, the love, the saving grace of Jesus Christ. I know God can move mountains, and His timing is perfect - and I pray He moves those mountains in due time.
Because time is fleeting, and I can't stand the idea of not seeing my Grandma and Grandpa pain free, worry free, praising God in eternity.
(Photo 1: Grandma at our rehearsal dinner in 2006; Photo 2: Grandma Sunday night as she tried on hats to find one to cover the spot where the doctors would shave part of her head and remove the skin cancer patch the next day - this is not the hat she chose!)
