Remembering my Grandmother (Gratitude Friday)

Grandma Darlene meets Riley for the first time Sept. 2007

The end of August traditionally marks the end of a season, when we put away the fun and games of summer and focus on the demands that autumn brings. This year, I have found another ending that August will always mark for my family.

My grandmother died yesterday.

My grandma was 75 years old, and her health had been declining for a while. Her passing wasn't unexpected, and while that may help to absorb some of the shock, it does little to absorb the loss. I have been sitting with the knowledge that her time was close for about a week, and while I am saddened for the grief my family is feeling, I am also very relieved that she went peacefully and happy that we are all choosing to remember the good things about a wonderful woman.

I've spent a lot of time this past week recalling the little things I remember about her, trying to set her memory solidly in my head and in my heart so I can tell Riley about her someday. I recall, very vividly, an argument she and I had when I was 5 years old. My little sister had just been born and I had a Kindergarten sleigh-ride to attend. The only gloves that could be found were green with a black stripe and I was certain that they would clash with my pink coat. I was adamant about not wearing them, adamant to the point of dramatic wailing and crying and locking myself in the bathroom. My Grandma (a Wuthrich in every sense of the word) was just as adamant that I would get over myself, come out of the bathroom and wear the gloves. Hollering through the bathroom door, she said, "Amyanne. Wuthrich. (Note: use of my full name was never a good thing) The color of the gloves does not matter. The sleigh-ride is what matters. Now get out here RIGHT NOW!"

I came out, wore the gloves, and I still remember how much fun the sleigh-ride was, surrounded by the crisp December air. The spontaneous snowball fight that erupted afterward wouldn't have been possible without the gloves. She was right, the sleigh-ride was what mattered, and that lesson is something I still try to live by today. Experiences matter. The details are just, well...details.

My grandmother lived a full life. She married my grandpa at 15, in 1950, and they enjoyed 60 years together. And when I say "enjoy", I mean they bickered and bantered for much of the time, but it seemed to delight them both. They had 5 children, and more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than I can count. She lived to hunt, played a mean game of poker, and loved western movies. She was artistic and creative, and always concerned about her kids and grandkids. I can't remember her not reminding me to put on a jacket, even when it was 80 degrees outside.

She let people make their own way and live their life how they saw fit, accepting them as they came and she didn't interfere often. The only advice that I can remember her giving me on child-rearing was to make sure my daughter wore socks every day, advice she bestowed on the first day she met Riley (pictured above). While she may be dismayed to know that Riley rarely wears socks unless absolutely necessary, it was the other bit of wisdom she gave me that day that has really stuck with me. Riley was only about 10 days old, and already I was going through the process of filing for divorce. When my Dad and Grandfather left the room, she tugged on my arm and pulled me down right next to her. Cradling my daughter in her arms, she told me to remember that I was strong, that I could get through this, and that my baby and I would both be better for it. After all, she said, I was a "Wuthrich, and we both knew what that meant."

She was right. I knew what it meant then, and I know, even more, what it means now.

I think there is a little bit of her in me. Perhaps some of my grit comes from her, and I'm absolutely certain a large amount of my stubborness does. She was a woman who laughed loudly and often, wasn't afraid of speaking her mind, cussed when it was required (she understood that sometimes it was required), believed in hard work, and taught her children (who then taught me) that when something needs to be done, you get into gear and just do it. I'm proud to be her granddaughter and treasure the traits I have inherited from her and hope to pass them on to my daughter. She was truly a modern-day cowgirl, complete with spit and sass, and I love, love, LOVE that about her.

Seeing someone you love pass on is hard, even when you know it's a blessing for them. It isn't supposed to be easy but I've found that there are little gifts along the way, if you look for them. There is a certain courage in the fight to keep them here. There is a certain strength in the mourning, in a father letting his children see him cry. And there is a certain grace in the letting go.

Tonight, as I wait for my siblings to arrive, so we can honor our grandmother and put her to rest, I am grateful. Grateful to have had such a wonderful grandmother for almost 34 years, for the influence she had on me, and for helping me to grow into who I am. I am grateful for the good times, the many laughs, and the family she raised. I am grateful for my faith and my beliefs, that reassure me that there is more beyond this life. But mostly I am grateful for those little gifts that I have found along the way; for that certain strength of my father, who let me see him cry and that certain grace of my family, who chose to let her go. It's been a tough week, but for everything this experience has given me, I am grateful.