Grandma

Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the goals achieved.  The real milestones are less prepossessing.  They come to the door of memory unannounced. . . and simply never leave. 

Our lives are measured by these.

-Susan B. Anthony

On Tuesday, February 1st, 1:30 in the morning, my Grandma, Melba Deckert, passed from this world on to eternity with God.  When I was born I came "home" to a trailer house parked in my Grandma and Grandpa's backyard.  A short while later we moved to our own farm only a half a mile from my Grandparents.  Needless to say my memories of my Grandma range from early childhood till this last summer when I last saw her.  

She was everything a Grandma should be.  When I was young, she sang lullabies to me and my brother and sister, read books to us, baked cookies and homemade bread.  As we grew into children she shared from her stash of stationary, let us play dress up with her old dresses (even her wedding dress once) and hats, gave us popcorn balls on Halloween.  When we were old enough to work worthy of a wage, she'd greet us in the farm house for an afternoon lunch, her kitchen smelling of fresh bread and pies, and we'd gather around her table and eat our fill.  She once challenged my sister and I to memorize Psalm 23 for a reward.  What the reward exactly was I don't quite remember but the real reward is still with me.  We'd spend the night there on occasion and her and Grandpa would spoil us with a milkshake.  I can still see her pulling the jar of Malt mix from the cupboard.  As we entered high school we seemed to discover in her a surprising whit that made it clear she could more than keep up with us in our humor.  When I went to college she began writing me letters.  They never stopped coming after they started except for the three years we (Aaron and I) lived close enough to visit.  Those three years were very special for me.  Once a week I'd drive over to her house with Malachi (who was just a baby) and after putting him down for a nap we'd drink coffee and visit.  Those were special visits.  

As an adult, my Grandma became a friend to me.  She began to share nuggets of wisdom with me, some tied up in a story, some pure confessions of things she would do differently, some in honest questions.  She always prayed for me.  Our whole lives she prayed for us.  But as an adult she began to pray with me.  I remember those times.  Those three years of close proximity I began to learn a bit from observation what it meant to grow old.  And I began realizing just what we were losing in this passing generation.  I will miss her prayers, her letters, the squeeze of her hand, and seeing her beside my Grandpa.  They were married 66 years and were sweethearts to the end.  What a legacy.  Below are some pictures of her from this last summer, our last times together.

These following pictures were all taken within the year before we went to Turkey, three years ago.  They portray a lot of what we all remember about Grandma:  her love for her great-grandchildren, her joy and satisfaction of a good visit, the way she gathered together the family and fed and served so many meals, her sweet love for Grandpa.   This is the way I remember her most.  

Grandma holding Sonora and smiling at Selah.

Grandma posing with Michaela, John and I, along with our kids.

She always lit up when she saw her great-grandkids.

Grandma serving coffee around her dining table at a Christmas gathering.

Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandma trying to get a smile from Sonora.

Grandma and Aunt Phyllis (her daughter) going over the old photo albums. 

Enjoying a good laugh.

On the day before I flew out for the funeral, I had the kids write cards to their Great-Grandpa (their Gros Pop).  I think what Sonora had me write on her card to send to Gros Pop about her memory of Gros Mom sums it up.  She had me write:

"I remember that Gros Mom loved us.  That's all I remember. . . that she always loved us."