Margaret J. Martin

I have a little wooden bear that sits on the table in my camper. To a visitor, it may seem as if it is there because it fits the de'cor.  In reality, the little black bear is a cheap tourist souvenir that I bought for my grandma on vacation when I was 10 or 11 years old.  Several years ago, my grandmother "re-gifted" the bear to me.  She gave it back because it was special to her and she wanted me to have it.  I thought it was strange at the time and, quite frankly, I didn't want the souvenir back.  Today, I am very grateful that Grandma did give me the bear back.  Today, I view the cheap little black bear as priceless.

I read and write while sitting at that camper table on a daily basis.  Occasionally, I will pick the bear up and hold it in my hands.  And when I do, the memories of my grandmother often flood my thoughts. Sometimes I smile and sometimes I still shed a tear.  You see, my grandma passed away four years ago this weekend (February 20, 2007), and while I don't have her here any longer, I have the gift of wonderful memories of her and the life she lived.

For me, my grandma was the quintessential grandmother.   My earliest memories of Grandma are of her holding me, reading to me, reciting poems, and scratching my back for what seemed like hours.  Her love was pure.  She had a spirit about her that was kind, unselfish, and accepting.  Yet, at the same time, she was strong, resolute, independent, and made me feel safe and secure. 

As I got older, I always loved visiting her.  While she lived in a modest, simple home, the holidays, and birthdays, and picnics, and family gathering at her home were made festive and special.  Her meals were so incredible.  I still miss her cooking today.  Nothing can replace her Sunday afternoon meal,or the holiday meals that were more special than the presents under the tree. 

Grandma never learned to drive, always wore a dress, never held a job outside the home, and only raised one child, my dad.  One would wonder how much influence she could have on her community. The answer became apparent to all who attended her visitation and funeral.  Hundreds formed a line at her visitation, and nearly all spoke of their memories of Grandma and just how special she was to them.  Sisters, her brother, neighbors, children at church, adults who admired her for her loyalty and faith, pastors, grandchildren, great-grandchildren.  All had special stories of Grandma.

I don't have the words to do justice to my grandmother's life.  I don't have the space on this blog to tell you how special she was.  I can't convey to you the love and kindness she exuded.  She indeed was a very, very special woman.  As my dad wrote in a tribute to Grandma, "  Her great interest was flowers – flowers of all varieties and colors. I watched through the years as she cared for her flowers and plants with strong slender hands and fingers, recalling the correct names for each one. In time, her hands and fingers became stiff… bent from age and arthritis – and then very quickly, it seemed, she couldn’t remember their names at all; and, eventually, she simply forgot to enjoy them". 

Today, she is in a city where roses never fade.  Today, she has no pain from arthritis and age.  Today, she is enjoying her flowers. And I wouldn't be surprised if she has a little one on her lap, scratching his back and reciting beautiful poems and the 23rd Psalm to his delight.

Thank you God for giving me my grandma for a time.  Hopefully, I will get to see her again someday soon.