Grandma Elva

I was recently reminded that I have been remiss in writing in this blog over the past couple of months.  Between that reminder and yet another reminder of the realities of life, it's important for me to put some things down here and I hope that I can once again grab the attention of my readers.  Forgive my absensce.

This post is not an easy one for me to write.  I have had a lot of thoughts over the past couple of days, and I really don't know how they are going to come together.  I do know this though.  It is fully my intention to write this post both as a tribute and as a reminder.  I write this post from my perspective and my perspective only.  I am not going to sit here and pretend to understand all the facts and circumstances, and at the same time I am not going to skirt around the truth either as I see it.  I am an individual who has become extremely familiar with hindsight, and I wouldn't be surprised if much of what I write here is simply in hindsight.

On December 25, 1997, the Utah Jazz defeated the Houston Rockets 107-103. I remember because I was there.  This was in the glory days of the Utah Jazz.  Stockton and Malone were the cornerstones, and championship aspirations were not far fetched.  I can't remember all the details.  I'm pretty confident that is was a surprise to me, but I can't remember.  What matters though is that my Grandma Elva took me to that game.  I thought she was the coolest person in the world that day for doing that for me.  It was one of those Christmas gifts that are forever etched in memory.  The Utah Jazz were OUR basketball team, something that my grandma and I always connected on.  She was Karl Malone's biggest fan.  I was just a boy who loved watching basketball and my Jazz.  I have pondered a lot on that memory these last couple of days. 

My Grandma Elva passed away this past Friday at just 68 years old.  After years of suffering and heartache, she was called home.

Grandma Elva and I were never really that close.  It just didn't happen.  She wasn't the grandma that took us all over the place.  She wasn't the grandma that we had sleepovers with.  I always struggled in my relationship with her for some reason.  There was just never much to be said and never much to be done when it came to her and I.  At the same time, we had some great moments.  That Jazz game was one of them.  There were also times when we would just sit together in her little sitting room; she would crochet and I would watch the television with her.  She would usually have some action movie on.  She had an awesome collection of McDonalds toys.  That was neat.  She collected shot glasses too.  As of late, she would make blankets for us.  They are like great big baby blankets.  I have two of them.  They are great on cold days, sick days, and just days when you need a little comfort.  She would never pass up a hug or a kiss for affection.  Even the way she puckered her lips was unique.  It was just one of those things.

My grandma Elva wasn't the most religious of people.  But there were times when I could catch a glimpse of her sweet and simple faith.  At one point I remember she got a new CTR ring.  CTR stands for Choose the Right, and she was really excited about that.  She loved to be with her family.  She loved it when her family showed love, and hated when her family would engage in contention.  For all of the difficulties and trials, my Grandma Elva simply wanted to give love and to be loved.  That was all.

It's complicated to write feelings about this relationship in a blog post.  I don't even have the words for a poem yet.  I don't know if it will come or not.  In so many ways, my Grandma and I were strangers.  In so many other ways, we were connected spirits.  I have video of her watching me shortly after I was born.  I have memories of Jazz games and quiet Sunday afternoons.  I have memories of pain and sorrow, suffering and loss.  I have memories of confusion, wondering what in the world was going on in my family that brought so much hurt. 

Over the past 5 years, my Grandma Elva was dealt an especially tough hand. She lost three of her four daughters, my own mom included. She struggled with her own health, struggled with her grief, and struggled with the right way to deal with heartache, misunderstandings and betrayal. As a grandson I admit I struggled to find ways to connect with my Grandma.  I struggled to find forgiveness and understanding.  She spent her final days in a rehabilitation nursing facility.

Right now, I have thoughts of my Grandma sitiing in that facility for the past couple of years, with very little power to do anything about it.  Without knowing all the details, I think of a woman abandoned.  I cannot imagine the extent of her grief and sorrow.  She lost her pride and joy in her children.  It seems that to often in her life she was dismissed as unimportant and a burden.  Even in death, it seems that memorial tributes will only be made in a going through the motions fashion.  Her final resting place will be uncertain, and the sad fact is that in an earthly sense, it would not take much for her to be forgotten.

For me though, no matter our differences and our lack of closeness over time, I will carry with me as a tribute my final moments with my Grandma Elva.  I last saw my Grandma before my family and I moved out to Oregon for graduate school. She was able to see all three of my girls, and even meet my little one for what would be the first and last time. Again, there wasn't much to be said. What was most telling to me though, was when we got up to leave. When I got up to say my goodbyes, I walked over to her, and she kissed me on the cheek. I hugged her tightly. I hugged her tighter still. I held on for just a little longer than I expected that I would. She rubbed her hand across my back and told me she loved me. I began to tear up and I told her I loved her. As I pulled away we looked each other in the eye, and she pulled me in again. She told me that she loved me, and not to worry, that she would be okay. I walked down that hallway feeling extremely grateful, extremely loved, and also with a strong sense that I wouldn't see my Grandma Elva again in this life. I was right.

Now, I imagine my Grandma in the midst of a joyful reunion.  She will be wrapped in the arms of her three daughters.  She will never again feel the sting of lonlieness and abandonment.  She will have the opportunity to better herself and feel so much of the joy she has been missing.  As for me, I can only hope those final moments with my Grandma, she could forgive me for any part I played in that loneliness.  I will take from her a lesson in love.  I will take from her a lesson in tolerance and understanding.  Sometimes we don't understand everything that happens in an individual's life.  Sometimes we don't understand why someone didn't try just a little harder, or care just a little more.  Sometimes it's not something to be understood.  Sometimes, regardless of time and circumstance, a person just needs to be loved.

Let us all be a little better, a little wiser, and open our hearts just a little more.  The sting of loneliness can be soothed with the healing balm of love.  I learned that in one final embrace with my Grandma.  I only wish I could have learned it a few embraces sooner.