I was looking forward to celebrating my grandmother’s 100th birthday with her in Florida tomorrow with a festive pumpkin pie decorated with candles, but alas, she was never much for milestones and took her last breath earlier this week, just 3 days shy of the big day. No Smuckers recognition on the Today show for Lois Estelle Knapp Maloney born on October 24th, 1919, but she did not like the spotlight anyway and was probably happy to pass peacefully, unknown to most of the world. Only .017% of the population lives to be 100; my Grammie was certainly unique but not because of her impressive statistics.
I have written about my grandmother several times over the years as she was a major influence in my life, and I always thought we shared a special Cancer/Scorpio astrological bond. She lived a wonderfully full, yet simple life and I am grateful that she was part of my life for so long. I have so many stories and memories of her that I could fill a book, and maybe someday I will. She visited me in most of the places I lived, except for NYC and LA – she was not much of a city person. She crossed the ocean to see us when we lived in Belgium by herself when she was 81 years old, and we took a hot air balloon ride over the hills of UT when she was 87; she drove to Boston to help out when both of her great grand children were born. She was always there when I needed her, without judgement or questions.
She was a farm girl at heart and had a lifelong passion for animals and her vibrant garden. She always had a home-cooked, hearty meal on the stove, and I can still see her in the pantry with flour covering her checkered apron while she whipped up Russian tea cookies, cardamom buns, or apple pies for dessert (or breakfast, or teatime). She hung her laundry on the clothesline between the shed and the garage for that crisp country air smell. The frugality of the WWII era made her a friend of the earth before it became trendy; she was a consummate recycler, composter, and follower of the “if its yellow let it mellow” mantra. Her kitchen was cluttered with tools, and dust could often be found on her bookshelves, but that didn’t matter to us. She had a quiet contemplative demeanor, never one to scold or make a fuss. The letters that she wrote to me over the years always began with "Kristie Dear..." This was the Grammie that I loved with all of my heart and she could not have been more perfect in my mind.
She could also surprise me as happens from time to time when you glimpse an adult alter ego of someone you’ve only known in a certain familial role. I was unhealthily addicted to the Outlander series (as many of you know) and was in the midst of reading all 8 books several years ago. I went to visit my Grammie in her assisted living facility in western MA, where she had recently moved, and low and behold, the 7th installment in the series was sitting prominently on her coffee table amidst Reader’s Digest condensed books and Yankee magazines. Even though these were historical fiction books, they were quite racy and my grandmother proudly admitted that she had read all of them. We talked on the phone just before her 90th birthday and she was excited to report that she was able to renew her driver’s license through the mail, thus extending her freedom for a few more years. I was happy for her, but slightly worried about the rest of the driving population in New England.
I don’t think I ever viewed her as being progressive, but in retrospect, she really was. She wore a strapless bikini on her honeymoon in 1942. She was an OR nurse and worked at the hospital until she was well into her 70’s. She drove her little yellow Fiat pretty fast as I recall, a fact which I belted out in front of all the adults in the room one day, much to her chagrin. She introduced me to coffee (with cream and sugar of course) at a young age. She let me go out on a “car date” when I was only 14 years old (this was against the rules in my own home). She worked when my mom and her brothers were young and throughout my entire childhood. She was a bring home the bacon (from the pig farm down the street) and fry it up in a pan type of dame. I was remarkably unaware of her professional life, for she did not bring her work home with her. She never seemed stressed, tired, or unhappy about having a career in addition to shouldering the brunt of the domestic chores. In fact, I don’t think I ever heard my grandmother complain, about anything, ever.
Even though she has physically left this earth, her presence pops up all over my house. The antiques that she left me, the bone china tea cups she collected over the years, the collages that I made with her photographs, letters, and my grandfather’s artwork, the silver candy dishes with initials belonging to distant relatives, the sweaters that she knit for me and my children made from washable acrylic yarn (practical for washing!), and the silk table runners she wove on her loom. But she was not a material girl, and though I love having mementos of her in my midst, she left me with much more than family heirlooms. I visited my Grammie a few months ago, and though she was mostly not herself and I’m not certain she knew exactly who I was, I hugged her and took in the smell of her soft skin and rested my head gently on her shoulder like I was a child again. I whispered that I knew she was ready to go, and that I loved her. I relayed to her how she had taught me to be a better mother, a good friend, a tolerant wife, and a thoughtful person. I am so happy that I was able to share these thoughts before she died. Too often we can’t find the words or get too caught up in our own lives to tell the people we love how we feel and the impact they have on us.
I am infinitely sad that she is not here anymore, even though I know she is happier wherever she is. I will miss writing letters to her and sharing my banal daily news and attempts at whatever creative activity I was pursuing that month. I treasure the unconditional love she gave me and her calm but reassuring presence on this planet. I am not religious, but I do believe in a spiritual Buddhist-inspired afterlife. I picture her free of the confines of the wheelchair, surrounded by her dogs, cats, horses and yellow finches, walking around the big meadow holding hands with my grandfather. I hope that I have made her proud and she knows that she will live on in my heart, and her essence will always be reflected in the way I conduct my life, love my children, and treat those around me with respect and kindness. And most of all in my appetite for dessert at any time of day.
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