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.