Remembering My Granny

Will brought me a book to read last night. It's back cover was yellow and blue and without even reading the cover, a thousands memories washed over me. My Granny read "Blueberries for Sal" to me a thousand times when I was young. As a blueberry farmer for more than 40 years, it was an obvious favorite for her. Interestingly enough, I didn't even know we owned it. But somehow, it arrived here recently because it was still in it's cellophane wrapping. Maybe a gift from Heaven?

I think about her every day. The grief I feel for her loss kind of hits me in waves. Lots of things remind me of her and when that memory comes calling, tears find themselves stinging the corners of my eyes. She had an incredible impact on my life---some of which I couldn't completely embrace until she was gone. And as often as I have thought of her in the months since she left us, I haven't been able to find the right words to write about her. Or to write at all. I've started and put it away many times. But somehow, reading "Sal" helped me find my voice.

Legacies are essential and each of us will leave one.  My Granny, I think, has a lot of them. And probably, her legacy is different according to who you talk to. She wasn't perfect. Sometimes, especially in grief, it is easy to think that she might have been. But she wasn't. She could be cold and distant. She was tough and sometimes hard. Either by personality or because life made her that way. Probably both. She was stubborn and set in her ways. But she was inspirational to me. She was independent and strong. Despite much suffering, she was a fighter and a survivor. She was kind and generous and because she was my grandmother, I feel a deep sense of love and honor for her that erases all of the negative traits and helps me cling to the good ones. And I was lucky enough to know her. Not just as my grandmother but as Sarah. For more than a decade, I had the distinct privilege to "interview" her. To learn her story and to know her in a time before she was a grandmother. I am not sure exactly how it happened. I think I was just curious nosey enough to start asking her questions. Sometimes she answered me, sometimes she didn't. Sometimes she chose the topics, sometimes we let pictures take us down memory lane. Sometimes I asked her questions and she told me flat out she didn't want to talk about my topic. If you knew her at all, you knew she was the one that was to going to dictate the conversation. Straightforward. Direct. Honest, to a fault. And yes, stubborn. It was her way, or no way.

Me, Mom, Granny & Aunt Nancy at Christmas

Losing her, although in many ways anticipated because of her age and the decline of her health in recent years, has been an enormous loss. She has been a bedrock to me for all of my life. She lived across the street. She pulled my first tooth--I think she pretty much pulled all of the grand children's first tooth whether you wanted her to or not--although she didn't "jerk" mine out like she did poor Andrew! She gave me my first paying job. In fact, if your last name is Newton, Newton's Blueberries likely deserves the coveted "first job" spot on your resume. She diagnosed every ear infection or ailment I ever had. She cheered me on at two college graduations, never forgot my birthday, and welcomed each of my children with open arms. She never failed to notice (or mention) if I gained a few pounds but she never seemed to notice (or mention) when I lost them. She was just always there and in some ways, I know now that I took it for granted that she would always be sitting on the back porch waiting for me to stop by.

While I always knew her as my Granny, my hours of time with her enlightened me to the fact that she once lived a life as a woman named Sarah. She was stubborn---to the core. She was deeply intelligent. Fiercely independent. Well read. An honor student. She had a deep love for God, history, Clemson football and Braves baseball. She was no fair weather fan. She believed in the pursuit of education. Not only did she provide that pathway for herself, she gave the opportunity to each of her children and in turn, ensured that avenue for each of her grandchildren. She believed that opportunities not taken were in fact, blessings wasted.

She was a wife but spent many years more as a widow. She was a mother to six children, five of whom were boys. She endured the unspeakable loss of a child. It was a pain she never outlived. She was a nurse who gave lovingly and tenderly to each of the children in her care for the school district. She was a farmer who made sure that each June came with the promise of sweet blueberries for jams, pies, and her famous dump cake.  While I don't think she would ever want her church to be defined by her, her presence certainly defined her church. Through committees and the choir, VBS and Sunday School. As a lay leader and a member, she showed up each time the doors opened and her presence there and everything she did was meant to glorify God, never herself.

Donnie and I fishing with Granny

When I was a young girl, her house was my house each Sunday afternoon. Same dinner each week--Cube steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, English peas, rolls and salad. We fought over the coveted corner spot at the back porch table. It became such a popular spot with the grandchildren that she eventually created a rotation chart and whoever sat upon it, had to say grace. If you missed your turn, tough luck. Sunday afternoons were spent playing softball and kickball in the front yard, long walks around the blueberry field, and if you were sneaky enough, maybe a little fishing. Because for Granny, there was no fishing on Sunday.

Easter brought egg hunts and the race to find the "golden egg" stuffed with money that was hidden somewhere in the maze of azaleas and oak trees out front of the house. Christmas meant supper at Granny's and a living room overflowing with family who exchanged presents every single year. In fact, this year Ian was sick on Christmas and I didn't want to go to Granny's to share our germs. She called me at 4pm on Christmas day and said, "I'll see you at 6pm." And I told her we weren't going to come because Ian was sick. She repeated, "I will see you at 6pm" And we were all there. And I sure am grateful we were. I would have never forgiven myself for missing her last Christmas.

As Newtons, we cling to traditions and we aren't fond of change. At all. We don't make decisions well and our spouses often accuse of being "lost in the weeds" or "incapable of making a decision about anything." Uncle Stan has informed me that rather than a character flaw, it is actually a well developed talent.  And I thought all of my life, that because we are sarcastic and direct and not overly affectionate that we were, as a family, kind of dysfunctional. Granny, by her nature and her musings, told each of us at different times in our lives when things didn't go our way to, "Suck it up. Get over it. Move on." It seemed harsh. Unemotional. Certainly not motherly or grandmotherly advice. But in hindsight, it now makes perfect sense. Don't waste life that you have holding on to things you can't change. Accept it as a part of God's plan, trust that He knows best, and move on. Wise counsel. It is something she sort of forced us all to believe and to accept as fact. I even hear myself saying it to my own children.

What became perfectly clear to me as we sat vigil at the hospital when we knew that her time with us was coming to an end was that she had done a remarkable job raising a family that loved and respected one another deeply, even though I am not sure that until that moment that we even knew it. When we got the call, we all came home. For the 5 hours at the end, we prayed, we sang, we laughed. And yes, we cried. Together. As a family. Such strange things for us to do in general. Even more surreal that we did it all together. We relied on our faith, which was the faith that she had instilled in each of us. We trusted that He was in control and because of her relentless teachings, we know with full confidence that we will see her again in Glory.

We made decisions. Actual decisions. Quickly. Together. As a family. We created a beautiful tribute to her life. Together. Everyone had a chance to contribute. Everyone had a part. And we did it all without a cross word or argument. For a family as large as ours, full of as many opinionated know-it-alls as you can fit in one room, we managed to create something beautiful. Together. For a family that hasn't always been touchy-feely and isn't into self help, but rather suck-it-up---for all of our individual dysfunctions (and there are plenty), we somehow turned out just fine. And for all of her distant, cold, and sometimes tough love, we turned out to be none of those things. We love unconditionally, we are all loyal (and honest) to a fault. We are full of stubbornness but also overflow with willing hearts who serve our communities. She insisted on it and for fear to cross her, even now in Heaven, you better believe we will live out the legacy she would expect us to.

I think she would be very proud of us for how we have managed to come together in the weeks since she passed. She certainly wouldn't be proud of these tears I have to keep wiping from my face or that I took up this much space going on and on about her, but otherwise, I know she was proud of me. Why? Because at Christmas, we had what would be my final interview. I got to sit with her for several hours and talk. Just the two of us. We talked about subjects we had shared before, Uncle Don's death, the births of her children, her own life. But this time, she was far more introspective. No longer distant but very real. Maybe she knew her time was coming short. Maybe she was just feeling particularly chatty. Whatever the case, I cherish that final conversation most of all because she told me how proud she was of the mother I had become. She loved that I was tender and affectionate toward my kids, that I openly loved them. It was something she admitted had been hard for her to do. She was proud that I had breastfed my kids and given up my career for them---things she hadn't done herself. From her, my tough and stubborn grandmother who paid very little compliment, I received one of the most incredible affirmations of my life. And she went further. She told me how lucky she was to have the children that she did, who cared for her so deeply and tolerated her stubbornness. She told me how lucky she was to have 10 grandchildren who grew up to be good people (Andrew & Aaron, I think she was giving you far more credit than you deserved...but...just kidding...She really said it!). She told me how lucky she was to survive all the things she had to see so many great grandchildren be born. She told me she was lucky that God had blessed her with a wonderful life that wasn't always easy but that she really tried to do her best to make a difference in her little part of the world. And she did. As a mother, as a grandmother, nurse, farmer, teacher and believer.

Newton Family at Granny's Funeral

She wasn't perfect. But she was amazing. She was blessed and we were lucky to have her. She left us many legacies but I think she taught us  that God first, family next, and then everything else matters most. She expected us to suck it up on the bad stuff and to keep on, keeping on toward the good stuff. We will certainly do that. We will miss her every day and we will never forget the lessons she taught us. She was so worthy of our respect and our love. And the greatest gift she gave us, as dysfunctional as we often are, is each other. And we will keep marching forward. Together.