In Memorium

It's amazing what can make the memories stir and emotions swell.

This morning, it was a simple mention of Waitsfield, VT in an article about B&Bs. That's where Grammie lived, I thought, and surprised myself by blinking back tears.

It's been years since my great-grandmother died. Long enough that I don't even remember the exact year anymore.

Oh, but I remember the smell of the hospital when we went to visit her while she was in a coma. I remember the memorial service, listening to everyone share their memories. I still remember the sick horror we felt when we first heard about her stroke. I remember the tremendous sense of loss that my younger cousins would only have vague memories of Grammie Straw.

Lis and I were luckier than most. Gram lived with us for a few years, while Mom was working. She taught us how to play cards - we still sometimes play Crazy Eights, just because it reminds us of her. She was always loving, always patient, always gentle, and would tolerate no unkindness or rudeness.

This winter or spring, my grandmother is going to be moving into the house next to my parents'. When we go home to visit Oma and Grandpa now, the girls will also get to spend time with their great-grandmother.

She is always loving and patient with her great-grandchildren. She is gentle. She will not tolerate rudeness or unkindness. She loves to play cards and put together puzzles. Sometimes Lis and I almost forget she is our grandmother, because we just have so much fun hanging out with her. There is always laughter when Gram is in the room.

Someday, I hope, my girls will be talking to their children about their great-grandmother, about how wonderful GG was. And their children will look at their own great-grandmother, my mother, and they will see all the same traits in her as in the stories of GG. (Except cards. They bore Mom; she only plays to humor her family.)

And then, inevitably, the years will go on, and someday it will be my turn to be the great-grandmother, and if my great-grandchildren, years after my death, can be flooded with good memories just at the name of the town where I used to live, I will be satisfied.

Sometimes, the best legacies are the intangible ones. The best family traits are the ones passed not through genes, but through experience.

Grammie Straw's name has been passed down to me, and now to my daughter as well. More importantly, her character qualities have been passed to each succeeding generation, and will continue to be for many more to come, so I hope and pray.