My mom’s mom was a tiny little lady. My mom was 5’1/2″ tall and she was taller than my grandmother.
The best I can remember, she was a sweet, quiet, hard working little lady. She was always smiling and hugging.
My dad once pulled in her yard and she was standing on a crate and was helping change a fan belt. He said all you could see was her feet sticking out. She had to be nearly 80 at the time.
My memories are pretty spotty. I saw her every other Saturday when my mom went to visit her. We’d take her to the grocery store and out to lunch and to Kmart.
She died a couple of months before my mom.
And I wish I remembered her better.
Because, when I look at the life that she lived, I think she must have been pretty amazing.
Just to remain standing would have made her amazing. Much less smiling and hugging.
My grandfather owned a small sawmill. And every morning my grandmother got up and made breakfast for his entire crew. That’s a lot of biscuits.
Not to mention her crew. She had seven children.
One of them she lost to some sort of fever when he was very young.
Two of her older children were left with pretty severe brain damage from this same fever.
They were always referred to as “retarded” after that. And in that day and age, making fun and ostracizing people with handicaps was pretty commonplace. I can’t imagine how that hurt as a mother.
Her “retarded” daughter was one of my favorite people when I was a kid.
And I really hate that word.
One of her sons was killed in World War II.
And another was killed in a horrendous car accident as an adult leaving three small kids behind.
Her husband also passed away. Leaving her to take care of the two special needs adult children and herself.
I always looked at her as this meek little lady. And now, I wish I’d known what I was seeing.
A brave, brave woman.
A hero.
I wish I’d realized what a pillar of strength she was.
And what she’d been through. Until I grew up and had my own family, I don’t think I ever really considered her. I’m ashamed to say.
And I wish I’d learned more from her.
I wish I’d recognized her quiet strength.
Next time, I feel like complaining, I need to remind myself of her.
I think I’ll find her picture and frame it.
It’ll serve as a reminder that I don’t know hard.
But, I do come from strong stuff.
And that even when you know hard, you can smile anyway.
Do you know people like that?
Amazing people that you didn’t realize were amazing? If they’re still around, take the time to get to know them. I wish I would have!
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What a beautiful story! Your grandma sounded like a tiny lady made of steel. Changing a fan belt? I wouldn’t have the slightest clue. And to lose that many children had to have been heartbreaking. And you know, we never see people for who they are when we’re little. It isn’t until we walk in the same shoes, that we truly understand. I’m sure she knows you’re acknowledging her now. She’s probably making some heavenly biscuits in your honor.
So sorry I’ve been away. My writing took the place of visiting my favorite blog friends for awhile.
Beautiful story! I’d love to see a picture of her!! Must post when you find it!
Oh, Carol Anne, this a wonderful story. I’ve recently been thinking the same thing about women and how tough they worked to keep their families alive. And how we moan about doing laundry in a washer and dryer.
I don’t tihnk we know what tough means.
Another amazing story! It’s easily one of my favorites! (the “old folk” really tug at my heart!) I hope someone will look at me one day and think I was a pillar of strength! Gives me something to strive for!
Oh my, this is lovely. I think of my own mother when I think of somebody strong. We didn’t have much money growing up (think two English teachers and salaries), but Mom always managed to have tons of presents under the Christmas tree, she always laughed, and was always just “there” for us. She’s stronger than just about anyone I know, and I really hope to be like her when I grow up. She’s truly one of my best friends, and role model.
i never really thought about my aunt who lived to be 103 being strong because she lost a kid or two and the youngest had cerebral palsy and she took care of him her whole life. in those days, people with CP were usually “put away” but he lived until this year at the ripe age of 70 something. she had him when she was 40 something. he was the youngest of 7 or 8 or something crazy. to me, she was just aunt mildred. but now i think she was a pretty strong woman. i never knew her husband and she outlived him by about 40 years. they were made of strength in the old days! now we’re just a bunch of pansies.
When you’re younger you just don’t have the same perspective you do as you get older. Thanks for reminding us to pay more attention to those around us…everyone has a story to tell!
She sounds like an amazing lady. I have found that all the stories I found boring as a child about my family who came before, I hunger for now. It is amazing to learn who we come from and what their lives were like. My little 4 year old is named after my great-aunt who died from the measles when she was six. Family history is awesome!