I spent the past couple of days in Iowa learning as many stories about grandma’s life as I could. I wanted to make sure I told the stories that represented all of her so I labored over something that would show who she was and why she was so important to all of us. But it never felt right. Grandma was too straight-forward for so much fuss. Instead, I just want to share what she meant to me.
Grandma was good, in a way that’s often hard to find. For a little girl who was often confused and never quite knew her place in the world, the visits to the farmhouse provided a sense of peace. She didn’t express it in words often, but I always knew that she loved me. The newspaper clippings in the mail, showing that my latest minute accomplishment had been published in the Stockport paper spoke for her. And in Iowa, she would always be there with a kiss on the lips and a donut brought out of deep freeze for breakfast.
Grandma was a natural born storyteller, and my favorite was when I learned that grandma didn’t even intend to be a wife or mother when she was younger. She’d sworn she’d be a spinster, like a much admired aunt. Then granddad came along. I was never clear on when they met or how long they courted, but can vividly recall both of them telling of the times granddad chauffeured her as a member of the high school sports teams.
Regardless of how it started, he fell in love and finally persuaded her that she belonged with him. She conceded with a condition: that she have $1000 in the bank before she walked down the aisle. When the wedding day came, she was $6 short, so granddad handed her enough to close the gap and they started fifty-six years together, at the tail end of the Great Depression.
For me, that was grandma. She ended up my grandmother because she picked that life, and I think that made it all the more important to her. She’d embraced the non-traditional, then discarded her original plans for granddad and for the children they could have together, launching the greatest love story I know.
I looked at them and saw a quiet love that let you know that everything was gonna be ok. No matter what, you were a Clark. They may not agree with you, but they would love and support you…because nothing came before family. They had one of the few marriages I’ve ever seen that showed me what it could be – the joining of two fiercely independent and headstrong people into one united front.
Grandma was the foundation of family as a concept for me. A rock and a resting place. And grandma knew things that made a little girl’s world every time I saw her.
Grandma knew that a pat on the knee spoke volumes; that sugar could never hurt a diabetic when it’s inside a donut; that baby ducks needed to be held by little hands if they ever wanted to thrive; that angel food cake tastes best with pink frosting; that getting those newspaper clippings from Stockport made you feel loved.
She knew that attending her granddaughter’s wedding in Texas was important enough to overcome her fading memory and fear of traveling alone to be there. Because nothing could stop grandma from doing anything she set her mind to. She never had to tell you how much she loved you; you just knew.
Less than two weeks ago, grandma told Joan that she wanted to be with her husband. It quickly became clear that, true to form, her decision was final. My father, stepmother, and I arrived on Saturday to spend as much time with her as she’d give us.
By that point she no longer had the power to speak clearly, but, in a room filled with people who never wanted to let her go, she looked up at us and found the strength to say “goodbye”. Late that night, she woke us all and we laughed with her as she shuffled her feet, smiling, and clapping silently for a performance only she could see.
I like to think she was running off the field after a winning softball game, and that when she turned her head to ask my father “do you know him?”, she was meeting granddad again for the first time; this time with knowledge of the eternity they’d have together. She fell asleep and never woke, waiting for a quiet moment with her oldest daughter to finally let go.
She was a strong woman, a loving and protective mother, an attentive grandmother, and an independent spirit that couldn’t be stopped if she put her mind to something. She didn’t just live the life handed to her; she looked at her choices and picked her path, held her family close, and committed herself to what she believed in with an unstoppable perseverance.
She is present in each of her children…in the brilliance and determination of Uncle Jim, the independence and clear self-possession of Aunt Jean, the quiet compassion and unwavering support of my father Joe, and the nurturing, giving, and boundless love of Aunt Joan.
I am more grateful than I can ever express to be a part of that legacy; to know that her love of family, her grace, integrity, and strength are a part of my heritage.
