I officially pulled all the prior posts from my .org site (See Day 81 post) even though I’m fairly certain I lost a few in the process, I’m excited to start creating new posts and sticking to the writing process this time. This first post is actually something that I’ve written recently, so maybe that’s cheating since I’m not actually starting fresh, but it is something that I am proud of and want to share. So a bit of cheating to get this first post done, but the next one will be brand new thoughts and words not previously written.
Back in January, I got a call from my mom letting me know that it was time to come home. My grandmother was not doing well and if I wanted to say goodbye in person, then it had to be now. I scrambled and was able to get a flight back to Milwaukee two days out. I landed back at home at the same time my dad did (mom was already home) and we were whisked to my grandmother’s bedside by the best personal chauffeur this side of the Mississippi (thanks Uncle Mark). The next few days were spent with so many family members who had taken flights, long road trips and everything in between to spend more time with her. It was a beautiful reminder of the life that she and my grandfather created for all of us.
There were several wonderful days of her sharing stories with everyone, laughing and still ending every visit with an “I love you.” And towards the end of my time at home, you could see the exhaustion set in. But she had rallied. For all of us. She had rallied to give us that incredibly special time with her and the dozens of family that were in and out of her room. But I know how terribly she missed grandpa and so when everyone had flown home, she rested and went home to be with him.
After she passed, the family worked to find a time when everyone could fly back again for one more Sunday dinner in the church basement, one more “I love you” and a wonderful goodbye to the last of a generation that had built such an incredible foundation for so many in our family. And when they asked for those that wanted to speak, I raised my hand. I love writing, but I also find something incredibly cathartic to the process. So as much I knew I wouldn’t make it to the end without shedding some tears (although I came close), it was very important to me to be able to share a few words with everyone that day.
So this is what I said:
Mom, Grandma, Great-grandma, Great-great grandma, Shirley, Aunt Shirl or however you knew her, you know she sat opposite grandpa, capping both ends of our dining room table. A table that spanned decades, dozens of family, friends and those that by time spent rather than by blood have become family. Some of these words may sound familiar since they are the same ones I shared at grandpa’s funeral. They are here as well because I can’t imagine a better way to talk about grandma’s legacy than to speak to Sunday dinners and the life she and grandpa created together. Anyways, back to Sundays. Once you were old enough to graduate to the adult table, there is nothing surprising about the fact that is was always such an exciting Sunday dinner when you landed at the seat on either side of grandma. She may not have been the chef of the family, especially after the whipped cream fiasco of the early 90’s (think dining room table. One end grandma. One end grandpa. One spoonful of whipped cream. One of grandpa’s eye glasses lenses covered in said whipped cream) but she brought so much of the warmth that filled those evenings. Watching America’s Funniest Home Videos after dinner. Rocking on the front porch. Building snowmen on those cold, snowy days. One of my biggest takeaways from Sunday dinners was that there was always room for one more. One more place at the table. One more plate piled high with spaghetti and one more person to join our family for one Sunday or many. Everyone was welcome and everyone was family at that table.
Growing up, I have so many wonderful memories of time spent outside of Sunday dinners at grandma and grandpa’s house. The times that during a sleepover, grandma would not insist I return to bed after a late night bedroom escape to join her in the living room where she was binging her late night movies but instead would find me a comfy pillow, wrap me in a blanket and let me into her world of classic movies until my eyelids were far too heavy to make it to the next song and dance number. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Arsenic and Old Lace. West Side Story. It’s definitely where my love of musicals and classic movies began.
Or the time when my sister and I were staying over and the power went out so the next morning, the house was absolutely freezing and while getting ready for school, grandma put our clothes in the oven to warm them up so we could have something cozy to put on. We thought it was the greatest thing ever.
Or when she would have the cousins over for sleep overs. One New Years Eve there was a sleep over in the living room. I will admit I don’t remember much else in the way of detail about that night. But I do remember cousins, counting down to new years and vuvuzelas. Those giant, plastic, extremely loud horns. I am also fairly certain the vuvuzelas only made an appearance for one year. As a child, I couldn’t comprehend why that would be the case. Grandma – as an adult and a mom, I get it.
Or just the simple act of walking around the block with her, flipping over the little bar that sat at one of the corner houses. Walking past Aunt Agnes’ house with many a stop over visit or stopping to say hi to Lolly and George. It was the time she spent with all of us. The ways she made us feel special. Loved.
If you ever came over to grandma and grandpa’s, then you were aware of our family picture wall. One line of pictures per generation. One picture per family member. One updated picture per year typically until the last year of high school. Bad haircut be damned, those pictures were going on the wall. And every once in a while, you would slip those photos off the wall to revisit the prior year pics and revel in the haircuts, clothes, sweet little smiles and it was just another way you knew how valued, cherished and loved you were in that home.
Grandma was incredibly talented in the world of crafts. Talents she shared with so many of us. Taught us to sew and quilt. The back bedroom packed with countless art supplies that she welcomed us all to use. Let us experiment with her canvases and paints. I’m sure many here have a painting adorning their walls or a quilt lovingly draped over the arm of a couch that grandma poured so much time and love into. And to have that kind of art in your home makes it feel that much warmer.
Will-O-Rill was an integral part of grandma’s life and again one that she shared with the family. Spending weekends at the Dahl House, monitoring all the other camp sites. Running up and down the hill at Taco. Pumping water in the front of the Dahl House. Campfires. Banana Boats. S’mores. The sheer terror of waking up in the middle of the night needing to go to the bathroom, knowing that the only way to do so was to run down to the outhouse with a flashlight. Or on one occasion the didn’t-know-how-we-would-survive-it kind of embarrassment as us kids woke up to discover that the moms had hung all our underwear out on the arm of the water pump. Clearly irrelevant that we had thought it was hilarious we had done it to the moms the night before. All of these moments are ones that left an indelible mark on my life.
Grandma also had such an incredible group of ladies. I was privileged enough to be introduced to so many of these wonderful women over the years. Their laughter was infectious, the joy they each got from the time spent together was evident and the friendships were life-long and such a beautiful thing to see. Reliving the trips through grandma and their many photos together. Getting to help put together some of their scavenger hunt nights. Joining them at quilting from time-to-time. All of it allowed me to witness the magic of having those type of friendships in your life. I hope to one day have my only group of ladies that stick with me over the decades, through thick and thin. Having Aunt Agnes in that group allowed us to further connect and grow the family I knew day-to-day. With her quiet demeanor and commanding spirit, her ability to gracefully remove stitches and all encompassing hugs, Aunt Agnes gave us that window into the Sanfelippo’s, another ever-present and incredibly important branch to our family tree.
There were times when the church basement was as much a part of our lives as our dining room table was. Hours spent in that kitchen with everyone from Sunday dinner, the Sanfelippo’s, the Ellingson’s. Dinners cooked and served together. It always felt like we were so special to be a part of those days. Getting to be part of the behind the scenes magic making those dinners come to life. Running up and down the ramp in the hallway. Playing with all the kids that were in attendance. I think even on those days, grandma and grandpa were silently but in a very big way engraining and enriching our lives.
Growing up I’m not sure any of us kids recognized the true gravity of what we were being gifted over the years. The Sunday dinners that started with meatballs and ended with “I love you’s”. Christmases dotted with way too much food and visits from Santa and ended with “I love you’s”. Easters with egg hunts and watching the Easter Bunny from afar and ended with “I love you’s”. Whether it was a normal Sunday dinner or a holiday the house was filled to the brim with loud conversation – the faster and louder the better actually, enough food to feed an army, games in the Girl Scout closet, playing school at the desks upstairs, hiding in the kitchen pantry and playing ghost in the graveyard across many a neighbor’s yard. And each night ended with “I love you’s” that were meant whole heartedly and given freely.
It wasn’t long ago that mom called to let me know that it was time to come home because we did not know how much more time we would have with grandma. I am beyond grateful that I was able to get home and have that time with her. True to form, that time was such a testament to the life she created for all of us. Generations of family that visited her. That flew in from North, South, East and West to steal a few more moments with her. And for everyone there, one last visit that included musicals, reveling in moments shared, updating her with new life milestones for countless family members and one final goodbye that concluded with an all too familiar and oh-so-welcome “I love you.”
I took my two boys out to dinner a few nights ago and was reminding them that I was going to be flying back home to Wisconsin for great grandma’s funeral. My youngest asked what a funeral was. So we talked about that. Then they wanted to know what she was like. Although they were able to meet her a few times on random trips back home and via FaceTime calls, it always made me a little sad that they didn’t have the opportunity to really get to know her so it was wonderful sharing some of my favorite memories with them. After a handful of stories about her, my oldest turned to me and said “She sounds like the best grandma.” I clearly agreed. And then on the way home they asked me to warm their clothes up in the stove the next time our house lost power and how old they needed to be in order to sneak downstairs and watch movies after bedtime.
One of the greatest things about having such cherished people in your life is the ability to pass on those memories, traditions and the love felt throughout every visit. So I look forward to the day when my boys can tell of the visits to their Ma and Bubba’s house when they got to sneak out of bed and watch movies with them well after bedtime or have their version of clothes warmed in a stove thanks to a power outage. And I will know that those moments were possible because of grandma, the life she chose to lead and the world she and grandpa created for all of us in the family. And I will be forever grateful for a life I may not have understood as a child but one I have come to cherish more with each passing year. And for every Sunday I get to fill our Nesco with grandpa’s sauce, our home with the smell of Sunday dinner, our table with generations of family and friends that have become family over the years, I hope they leave our house that night feeling as loved and as cherished as I did every time I left grandma and grandpa’s.
Too Much Laundry, Not Enough Wine 