I have so many fond childhood memories. There was that cardboard box that sat in Grandma’s laundry room and was pulled out every time I came to visit. I knew the toys and coloring books were there waiting for me as we parked around the corner, and as I walked down the sidewalk past her rose bushes and that white metal rocker to her screen door. I remember the moments right after my parents left – I would put my little suitcase in Grandma’s room and we’d talk about what I would like for dinner.
Chicken and Dumplings…banana salad… and ice cream; whatever I wanted – we’d make a list, get her black metal rolling grocery cart out and make our way up the narrow sidewalk to the store. Keeping me safe, she’d always walk between me and the busy street– and while we walked, we’d look around and tell stories. When I was visiting Grandma, it seemed I could have anything I wanted, right down to desert! My favorite was chocolate ice cream. She’d buy a half gallon without any question (even though her favorite was butter pecan) and smile as she watched me gobble it down…at that time I didn’t realize that her buying me ice cream or a toy meant tighter budgeting for her… splurging for her grandson meant sacrificing down the road.
One afternoon, while Grandma was either ironing for someone or maybe repairing uniforms for the folks at Kentucky Fried Chicken, I remember asking her to make me a pillow for me. She stopped what she was doing and asked me what the pillow was to look like. We’d pull out a box of fabric scraps buttons and ric rac and I would design the pillow while she finished mending or hemming or sewing on her work. After she got to a point where she could take a break, she’d spend a long while sewing a one of a kind creation just for me. I find joy in giving handmade gifts because of my Grandmother. She taught me to create and through my family I have grown to realize that the value of a gift is not related to its cost – the best gift I ever received was that of encouragement from Grandma.
I don’t have any of her pillows anymore. Growing up, they were lost in the shuffle – but what has not been lost are the memories I have watching her do her very best at every craft – the finest work – and working with what she had to solve problems. I believe this is where I get my creativity… working with what you have….
I remember my naps in Grandma’s room – the freezing cold of her air conditioner – dozing off in the powdery smell of her bed – waking up and playing music on her record player – “Fiddler on the Roof” … “The Gatlin Brothers”… dulcimer music … Elvis Presley’s “How Great Thou Art”…
I also remember going to Eastlawn Elementary to fly a kite with her… I remember going to the creek, and her losing one of her shoes – chasing after it as it floated away… I remember sitting in her lap, laying my head on her chest and dozing off; totally safe… listening to her talk and the vibrations through her ribcage… listening to her heartbeat… and to her singing.
I remember one day probably around 3rd grade, Grandma wrote me a note and told me that she’d pay me $1 if I would memorize Psalm 23; The Lord’s Prayer. She wrote in this note that it’s an important message. I sat down and memorized the prayer and returned to her… recited it for her… "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul..."
She smiled and gave me a dollar. The last time I remember seeing that note, I had rolled it up and put it inside a glass jug – probably 6th grade. Being an adult, even today, I still don’t know the gifts I have received from my family – the strength I have witnessed – the creativity and love and understanding – the feeling that no matter what struggle I had there would always be open arms to go to…
She taught me all those years ago not to be afraid – and in her letters to me, she assured me (even decades ago) that she was not afraid of dying. She told me not to be afraid – that death is a part of life – and I know now, with the passing of Dad in 2007 that while it may seem like a scary path to travel, it’s something we all must do. I find comfort in knowing that Dad is there, along with Uncle Dave and so many others waiting to welcome her to Heaven.
Growing up is hard... it’s impossible to believe that my Grandmother’s time on Earth is over. The years have been difficult, and while some may feel left behind, I am doing my best to be brave. I know that she is watching over each one of us– doing everything that she can to protect us… standing between me and the busy road, just like she always has. Venice Kunnecke passed away today, August 20, 2008 around 2PM in Southern Indiana surrounded by her family. She was 95.
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