20 March 1916 - 28 July 2010
When I was young, my family went up to Vernal to visit my grandparents. While there, my parents and siblings decided to go fishing. I hated fish, and was afraid that if I went with them, and caught a fish, that I would have to eat it. I opted instead to stay with my Grandma and Grandpa at their house. I played with the wooden blocks, colored in the coloring books, and even played with the little elves and small plastic elephants that were tucked away in funny little spots around the family room. I had no concept of fishing, and thought that my parents would drive out, catch the fish, and be back in no time, much like taking a quick trip to the grocery store. But after all my playing, my family had still not come back. I started to worry that they would never come back, and began an incessant vigil at the front window, watching the cars stream past, and scanning the road for our station wagon. Minutes turned into hours, morning stretched into afternoon, and my waiting turned into anxiety, as evening began to approach. I consigned myself to the fact that my family never would return for me, and finally allowed myself to be rocked to sleep by Grandma. Gently she woke me a little while later to tell me that my parents were back, just as she had promised that they would be. It was from that experience that I began to look at Grandma Harrison as an extension of my own mother, instead of just a nice lady that we visited once a year.
When we would come to visit, I would sit and lazily listen to my Mom and Grandma talk about the family and the news. I watched them as they worked together in that little kitchen, making dinner and washing up afterward. I observed how Grandma helped my Mom to hang up our laundry on the clothesline so that we could pack it up later that day. I endured black pepper on my scrambled eggs, and black cherry ice cream for dessert because Grandma explained to me that my Mom liked those things. I saw my Grandma try to please my Mom, and watched as my Mom tried to please my Grandma. I learned by watching them, how much my Mom was like her Mom (though she often denies it), but more importantly, I learned how much my Mom loved her Mom, and how much Grandma loved her daughter. Seeing how much my Grandma loved my Mom, made me realize that my Mom must love me, her daughter, that much too.
Knowing Grandma Harrison, helped me to understand the depth of family, and how love for each other stretches backward and forward in time across the generations. I learned who my ancestors were by listening to my Mom and Grandma talk about the extended family, and learned that their love flowed forward to me, just as my love and appreciation flowed back towards them. Then, as an adult, and a mother myself, I watched as that love from my Grandma flowed on into the next generation, to my children, and that it will exponentially flow on generation to generation, as it ebbs and flows back and forth through our family's generations.
As we would load up our car to head back to Arizona, my Grandma would stand on the little stone steps that led up to her kitchen, waving good-bye as we drove away. Often we would see her through the kitchen window, or waiting for us on those steps, when we would return to visit, months later, almost as if she had never moved, but had been waiting for us that whole time. From my vantage point here on Earth, Grandma, I see you waving and waiting. I'll see you again soon. I love you.
Grandma-
You taught me how to gather chicken eggs without getting pecked,
how to stay quiet at church by rolling up your handkerchief
(which you always had tucked in your sleeve)
into 2 sleeping babies,
you always tucked a $1 bill into my hand when you said good-bye,
you had hidden "treasures" (like old dolls and coloring books)
inside the sliding panels of your walls upstairs.
you made your scrambled eggs with black pepper,
always served us black cherry ice cream,
visited us in New York, and bought me a
huge pencil at the Niagara Falls gift shop,
bought me 7-Up when I had the stomach flu,
always had a bottle of rose scented lotion,
had a soothing voice that I liked to listen to
as you and Mom caught up on all the local news,
had a great bag of wooden blocks,
you were so confused by us city folk grand kids
who marveled at all the details of a farm life
(we loved getting dizzy just staring up at the derek,
and were quite amused about the cows pooping - strange, I know),
you always seemed to look the same from year to year,
you wrote me letters when I was younger (and older),
and you comforted me when I was worried that my family would
never come back from fishing
(I had refused to go because I thought I would have to eat the fish),
and I miss you dearly, already.
Say "hi" to Grandpa for me - I miss you both!
I love you, Grandma!
