Smiling down on us, memories from Rachel

It  has been a long time since I saw Grandma. These pictures are from one of my last visits with her. We were out in Utah, visiting from Mississippi, and Jacob was 6 months old. She cooed and fussed over him, and told me how sweet he was and congratulated me on motherhood. Although Jacob doesn't remember her, I am so grateful that we have these pictures I can show him of his lovely great-grandmother. 

I have very fond memories of spending holidays at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Grandma would have an enormous spread of food, including a separate table especially for what seemed to me like an endless assortment of sweets. Her crispy, buttery sugar cookies, fudge, chocolate chip bars, and apple pies were almost more temptation than a little girl could handle. (And honestly, I didn't handle it. I was instructed to eat one dessert, and I'd always sneak back and pop more in my mouth when my mom wasn't looking.)

For Independence Day, there was the old-fashioned ice cream maker, which I'm pretty sure we'd fight over. There were sparklers for the kids, and a huge yard in which to run while waving them around wildly. (Is anyone else amazed that no one suffered major burns and we never burned down the field next door? I am.)

At Christmas there was the big tree, all decked out in coordinating blue ornaments, standing in front of the big window. When I think back on that tree, I realize how carefully Grandma placed each ornament, how much attention was given to each space on the tree, and what great talent she had for arranging decorations, flowers or otherwise. And then there was the little tree in the sun room, covered with the ornaments that were dedicated to her grandchildren. She knew and loved each one of us. I still have my brass jack-in-the-box with my name etched on the back. There were Christmas Eve gifts for us under her tree, which ranged from articles of clothing to jewelry to games.

All these memories I have reflect the life of a woman who worked tirelessly to provide her family with good experiences and delicious food. She loved us, and, although her eyesight and hearing faded, and she was far away from me, I have never doubted that she cared for each of us.

I find comfort in the thought of her the way she was at 25 or 30, free from aches and pains, eyes bright and perfect. I picture her watching us and listening to our voices with renewed senses. I will miss her, of course, but it is a comfort to know that we will see her again, and that in the meantime, she is smiling down on us.

Rings and Things

Memory of Grandma Grace from Laurel Jenson Hendricks

I, like Elin, come from the youngest end of the grandchild spectrum. There's some obvious downsides to being the youngest of the young; I remember getting in trouble for "horse play" in the house and "ruining the flowers" in the yard (though the latter complaint came from grandpa, not grandma.) All the rest of the grandchildren had developed a degree of maturity and decorum while I lagged behind as the baby of the bunch. Still, I have many happy grandma memories in my childhood. I loved her delicious meals. I loved how she interacted with my mother (mama obviously occupied a soft spot in her own mother's heart.) I loved how she remembered my birthdays and Christmas. One particular birthday, when I suspect I was about 12 years old, she sent me one of her lovely rings in the mail accompanied by a letter in her beautiful handwriting. She said her hands were old and worn, no longer suited to wearing very many rings. She thought I might enjoy wearing this one, she said, and continued to compliment me and the lovely young woman I becoming.Those are my childhood memories.

There's some obvious upsides to being the youngest of the young, too, for while most of my cousins were busy with work and families of their own, I got to have some special times with grandma the last few years of her life. Grandma graced our home with her presence. She was always full of sparkle. When I was home for the summer a few years ago, grandma and I would sit on the back porch to get out of the "cold" house (the air conditioner rarely makes it below 78 degrees) and into the sweltering Texas sun. There, she would comment on the beauty she saw around her. Grandma, with her legal blindness, loved what her limited vision revealed to her. She remarked how lovely the flower beds looked; she gave a cry of delight with every bird that passed overhead. Most of all, though, she told her favorite story. Essentially every day that summer, grandma told me the story of how she met grandpa.

That is perhaps one of the greatest legacies grandma left for me. She was so devoted to her husband, that handsome young man who walked into her school senior year of high school. As the story goes, grandma went home and told her mother she had met the man she was going to marry; she knew it at first sight. What she perhaps didn't know was what marrying her beau actually meant. It meant years living abroad with her six children in third world conditions. It meant endless hours raising her brood on her own while her righteous husband dutifully fulfilled his many priesthood callings. It meant cooking and housing a slew of missionaries, general authorities, and BYU students who weaved their way in and out of her life. Grandma helped grandpa through cancer and strokes while experiencing health problems herself. Yes, grandma toiled and worked hard, spending her life in service. She accomplished so much but lived out of the limelight, never complaining (according to my mother) and never receiving much praise or honor from the world.

 

I still treasure the ring grandma gave me on my birthday, but I now wear my glittering wedding ring from my new husband. With grandma's passing, I remember how she represents the kind of selfless wife, mother, and woman I hope to be. If I ever live as long as she did, and if my health similarly fails, how will I respond? I hope that I will still take pleasure and delight in the small beauties that surround me, and I hope that I will always remember how deeply I love my husband.

Flowers of Grace

Memory of Grandma Grace from Elin Jenson Roberts

Every summer my family would make the 20-ish hour trek from Texas to Utah to visit our maternal and paternal grandparents. For one week of each year, we spent our evenings up at the cabin and our days down in Orem with Grandpa and Grandma Farnsworth. I am one of the youngest grandchildren and unfortunately do not have many vivid memories of Grandma Farnsworth from back then. What I do remember is how gentle she was and how much I enjoyed the meals she made. Her homemade bread was heaven and memories of her home-canned pickles make me salivate still. But I think the memory I will always associate with Grandma Grace revolves around flowers. 

For a family history project, my mother, Marilyn, wrote the following about grandma:

"Every Saturday night from about Easter to the first frost in the fall,  mom went out and gathered buckets of flowers which she somehow managed to cram into our refrigerator. Then on Sunday morning she would get up early and create the most beautiful floral arrangements you can imagine. She or Dad, if he was home, would carry them to the church before the first meetings began and then retrieve them late at night after the last ward finished. One Sunday my Bishop got up and quoted a line from the hymn 'There is Sunshine in My Soul Today,' which reads:

For when the Lord is near
The dove of peace sings in my heart
The flowers of grace appear

Mom's bouquets were works of art that faded in a day but which brought the Spirit of the Lord near with their beauty and fragrance."

When I was at BYU, Grandma and Grandpa lived in an assisted living home for a time. Every so often, I would go and visit them, and on one particular visit, I brought with me a store-bought bouquet of flowers. When I presented them to Grandma, she felt the petals and the leaves and said how beautiful they were. She told me where to find a vase and some scissors which I collected and gave to her. I knew she had already lost much of her eyesight, so I watched in wonder as she felt her way around the flowers, cutting stems to different lengths and then arranging them in the vase. I was amazed at her natural ability--that she was able to make something lovely, even more beautiful without the use of her eyes.