I Just Want You to Know (14 page)

My parents taught me some invaluable lessons—lessons I’m trying to pass on to my own kids. Dad instilled in me a strong work ethic and financial responsibility. I remember him spreading out bills on the dining room table and inviting us kids into his process. He always put us in charge of adding stamps and an address label to each envelope. I have tried to follow in his footsteps by always paying my bills on time, working hard, and being as financially responsible as possible. Soon I’ll have eight stamp and address label applicators of my own.

Mom, on the other hand, was a constant, steady presence in our lives. She had a home-cooked dinner ready each and every evening and always did her best to keep up with five rambunctious kids!

My grandparents, too, taught me so much, especially about the value of family. They knew I had always wanted to be a nurse, and they watched me work as hard as I could to pay for school. Using
babysitting money, I paid for the first year myself but realized I didn’t have enough to continue. Even though they didn’t have much money to spare, my grandparents paid for my final two years of college. I continued working diligently throughout my schooling not only for myself but for my grandparents as well because they invested in me. When I graduated, Grandpa sent me a letter: “You’re going to make a real fine nurse. We’re really proud of you, honey.”

I still have that letter.

As Grandma and Grandpa got older, I started to collect the other letters they sent. Grandma always sent me cards of encouragement, and Grandpa would take pictures, develop them, and then send them in the mail with a note written in his curly handwriting. They never failed to bring a smile to my face through their letters full of love, encouragement, and belief in me as a person.

Dear Katie,

Sure was good to hear from you. Keep on hanging in! We love you and know you’re going to be a real beautiful nurse.

Grandma has the kitchen all messed up by baking pies. She says there’s a small grape pie for us two. The others go to our pastors.

When you are here we can talk about your need for whatever you need prior to your operation [tonsillectomy].

We love you,

G’pa & G’ma

Dear Katie,

We really appreciate your letters. You are more important in our lives than you seem to think. We have so many happy memories of you and your siblings. We treasure them all. You were an important part of family during all those growing up years.

Grandpa

Thank you for the love letter! We love you too.

G’ma

As you have already noticed, I’m partial to love letters. Maybe it’s because letters are a lasting form of communication. Or maybe it’s because you know the writer spent quite a bit of time thinking about the recipient. All I know is how much letters have meant to me throughout my life.

One of my favorite chapters in the Bible was actually first written as a letter, but it is more commonly referred to as the “Love chapter.” In fact, I got Hannah, Leah, and Alexis’ middle names from this chapter.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:4–13

Grandpa struggled with congestive heart failure following a heart attack while I was pregnant with the six. His weakened heart took him from me in the end, but I know his love for me remains.

After Grandpa died in June 2005, we knew it wouldn’t be long for Grandma. They had been married sixty-five years, and they loved each other fiercely. Theirs was an amazing and rare love story right up until the very end, when Grandma cried, “I just want to go be with Grandpa.”

One Saturday evening in September 2006, my sister-in-law came over to babysit the little kids, so the girls, Jon, and I could go to Lancaster General Hospital to visit Grandma. On our way we made a wrong turn—and then another one. We drove around Lancaster for about an hour.

Frustrated from what it took to get there, we rushed in to find
out visiting hours had just ended. Determined to visit regardless, we walked in to find Grandma pulling out her IV. She looked up, and with recognition on her face, she said, “I haven’t seen you and Jon in years!” We didn’t have the heart to tell her we just saw her the previous week. As the nurse was putting her IV back in, Grandma remarked that she had never been so embarrassed in her life. Then in the next breath, she turned to her nurse: “Did I do that?”

It hurt to see Grandma like that.

“How are you, Cara and Mady?” I was so happy she recognized the girls! They would have been heartbroken if she didn’t. I doubt she remembered we had six others, as she didn’t say her famous line: “You always wanted a little brother and he broke into six little pieces.”

I held her hand once the nurse left, the IV back in place. I wanted our deep loving relationship to go on forever, but as I sat there with her, I realized it couldn’t. “Grandma, I love you,” I said, “and even though I’ll miss you, it’s okay if you want to go home to be with Grandpa. I don’t want to be selfish anymore.”

“I always liked you the best!” Grandma replied.

This was not the Grandma I knew. She would have never shown favoritism. It was so hard not to see her act like herself.

I looked into her eyes and I could still remember my dear Grandma and all the years of pure bliss that she and Grandpa worked hard to create in their grandkids’ lives. The love she and Grandpa had for everyone and anyone—even those who appeared to be unlovable—was powerful.

I suppose I knew the day would come when we would be without them, but I had always pushed it out of my thoughts. As we each gave Grandma a kiss goodbye, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

A week later, I was lying awake in bed in the middle of the night; I kept feeling guilty about not going back right away to visit Grandma again. My sister had told me I needed to visit her soon since she wasn’t doing well. I had so many logistical reasons for not going
back over to the retirement home after she was discharged from the hospital, but the excuses didn’t seem to matter anymore. I had a distinct feeling that I had lost my chance.

When I woke up the next morning, I brushed that feeling off and headed to work. As I was finishing putting my first patient on the dialysis machine and getting ready for the second, the phone rang—which is not an uncommon occurrence, but everyone was too busy to pick it up. About a minute later, the phone started ringing again. I had a feeling it was Jon, so I watched my co-worker Cindy closely as she answered it. As she turned to me, I knew it wasn’t good. When I took the phone, Jon told me Grandma had died, and I sobbed, wishing I had been able to hug her goodbye one last time. She had just turned eighty-nine.

After our family’s first special aired on TV, when we would visit Grandma in the retirement home, her friends would ask, “Oh, Ruth, are these your grandkids?” She was always so proud. She was a great Great-Grandma!

While Grandma and Grandpa got to meet all their great-grandkids, I’m sad they didn’t get to know them better. I’m grateful for the memories I have of Grandma singing with our one-year-olds at our six-seater table, captivating them with her Girl Scout songs and the accompanying motions.

“Mom, tell us the story about Grandma and Grandpa,” Alexis loves to ask. “Show us the letter from Grandpa!” I’m always glad she asks, because I’m trying to share with my kids stories of my grandparents’ legacy.

Grandma and Grandpa taught me empathy, care, concern, and love. They were busy people, but they always stopped to pay attention to the small things. They loved watching birds, and I can picture my grandma saying, “Art, did you see that cardinal? Wasn’t it exquisite?”

Grandma and Grandpa were my examples of unconditional love. They loved people—all people. And everyone was welcome at their house anytime for any length of time. They gave everything they had. Whoever met them, never forgot them. That’s just the kind of people they were. They would receive hundreds of Christmas cards every year, and Grandma had baskets and baskets full: forget displaying them, there were way too many.

My best childhood memories were the times we spent at their house. We would have New Year’s Eve parties and stay up all night long. We also had tea parties, using Grandma’s fine china for tea, and pretending raisins were caviar. We’d put on all of Grandma’s costume jewelry and bright red lipstick—and then, of course, we’d kiss the duke (aka Grandpa). We’d cook up a storm and destroy Grandma’s kitchen for the millionth time, while she’d cheerfully say, “I’ll get it,” as she cleaned it up. Even the hour ride to their house was memorable.

Grandma and Grandpa picked us up in their pickup truck, and we would ride in the back on the wood storage boxes Grandpa had made. We’d tumble around in the back and then open the sliding window in the back of the cab. Grandma would talk to us or tell us to get drinks out of the cooler or sing the whole way to keep us busy.

Grandma was a fabulous cook, but when she asked us what we wanted for dinner, we would always choose “plastic turkey and plastic mashed potatoes,” which is what Grandma called TV dinners. She didn’t mind—she would let us have them anyway.

While they had a whole house full of bedrooms, we slept on the floor in sleeping bags in their bedroom. We’d listen to them snore in their well-rehearsed chorus. In the mornings, Grandpa got up early and made us a big breakfast in his clanky cast iron skillets and brought Grandma coffee. She stayed up so late, so she always had a hard time waking up in the morning. We would jump on her, and she would never get angry or annoyed. (Wish I could say the same…)

I can still picture Grandpa sitting peacefully on a bench in the
utility room, watching TV and carving Bible verses into his locally famous plaques with a pocketknife. He kept a peanut can full of bubble gum in the cupboard. He would chew the gum when he took his false teeth out at night, and he would always share his gum with us—especially the grape-flavored pieces, which were our favorite.

Grandma always had a purse full of candy and was known as the “candy lady” at church. All the kids found her after the service to choose a piece of candy.

Looking back, they taught me what really matters: family, memories, tradition. I couldn’t have asked for better grandparents. Soon after we moved into the house on Andrew Avenue, we placed the birdfeeder Grandpa had made for us outside our dining room windows. Almost immediately, two doves moved in. With the loss of Grandma and Grandpa always on our minds, coupled with the fact that they were avid bird watchers, it seemed only fitting to name the doves Grandma and Grandpa. Each evening as we ate dinner, without fail “Grandma and Grandpa” were there to pay us a visit. It was as if they were watching over us, and strangely, this was very comforting to all of us.

Because Grandma and Grandpa’s letters meant so much to me, I started writing letters to my own kids. Every Saturday before I left for work I used to write notes to Mady and Cara. Something as brief as:

Dear Cara,

I hope you have fun today. Please be a big help to Daddy. I hope you enjoy dinner tonight—Nana Janet Roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, your favorite! I’ll see you tomorrow morning when you wake up. I love you!

Love, Mommy

At first I just thought it was a nice way for them to wake up, but later on I realized they came to look forward to and expect those little notes each weekend. I only recently discovered that they saved them. I found stacks of notes in the drawers underneath their beds!