The first things I remember about life happened at my
Grandmom in Bristol's house.
We lived with my father's mother for the first four years of my life. We always
called it the Washington Street house.
By the time I came around, it already had been in the family for several generations.
It still is in family hands, my brother lives there now.
My Grandmom in Bristol was the living definition of matriarch for most of her life.
Strong, a little demanding, very centered, but also very loving in her own
strict way.
She could hurt you with a word or a hand but in seconds, wipe the pain away with a flow of
grandmotherly love.
Those first couple of years must have been difficult. Two families living under the
same roof. I can only remember the good things that mark the succession of years for
a child.
A birthday party where my whole hand went into the cake. For this incident, things
are blurred. I do not know if I remember it from pure memory or from the infusion of the
Kodak moment that resulted from it.
Things I know I remember were my little red fire truck that I pedaled along the interior
concrete walkway of the yard. The peach tree I used to shake to get a lunch time
snack and the grape arbor covering the rear door. One of my summer chores was to
harvest the grapes but avoid the bees that were trying to do the same thing.
>From a child's perspective, it was a good start to life.
Grandmom in Bristol also was the strong African Methodist Episcopal presence in my early
life. She was A.M.E. from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. My family in
Bristol went back to the early 1800s as A.M.E.s They were among the founding
fathers of the church in that town. Naturally, part of living with my Grandmom
involved going to church.
The smoothness of the third pew on the left in Bethel A.M.E. in Bristol is living
testimony to the squirm in my then little bottom. Grandmom would make sure I was
scrubbed, pressed and ready to go to church with her on Sunday. And she would sit me
right beside her, right down at the end of the missionary aisle.
Even after we moved, I remained my Grandmom's travel and church partner. My
Grandpop, in who's eyes I could not do anything wrong, passed away a short time
after we moved into our own house. My Grandmom carried on strong a good 20 years
after the death of her mate.
Her house was midway between our house and the school I went to, so it was a convenient
stop along the way to see Grandmom as I came home from school. She remained rigidly
independent after the passing of her husband. She continued to work for a few years
and even in retirement, she stayed busy with her church work and projects.
A stroke hit her when I just was entering high school. She was lucky, she escaped
paralysis but it did leave its mark. Her mind started to wander on occasion.
She would wake up in the middle of the night and see things. Occasionally,
she even would get a little confused during the day light hours but mostly it happened at
night during the sleep process.
You can tell when decision making is happening around the house. The adults get all
huddled up. They start speaking in hushed tones.
My Grandmom only had two children to look out for her, my father and his brother
Nathaniel, my Uncle Nat. My Grandmom in Bristol and her husband had been childless
and she raised my father and my uncle from an early age. This is back in the day
when children of relatives stayed within the family. Grandmom and Grandpop did not
have any children and they had cousins who did who needed help, so my Dad and Uncle Nat
became their children. Too bad more families are not like that today. They
formally adopted Dad and Uncle Nat and the two grew up to be tighter than brothers.
I was not trying to eves drop, but I could not help but grasp the core of the conversation
between my Dad and his brother. He and Uncle Nat were trying to determine how to
deal with my Grandmom. They were afraid she would hurt herself if left alone in her
house. Her night time problems were not getting any better and now, day time
confusion was becoming more of an issue. The final decision was she could not
live by herself. The only alternative they could envision was a nursing home.
I had just turned thirteen. It was the first time I felt my heart chill.
I just could not picture it. I just could not imagine it. My Grandmon in a
nursing home. My mental image of a nursing home was anything but comforting.
The only time I had been to one, it smelled bad. The people looked bad and it
was noisy with crying and random screams and shouts. That was no place for my
Grandmom to be.
The more I listened to the two brothers discussing the situation the more I realized
there did not seem to be any other resolution.
I know I was out of place, and I know it was none of my business but I made this the time
and place to make my first adult decision.
"I'll go and live with Grandmom," I said, interrupting the discussion.
""I'll go live with her so she can stay in her home."
Did I think through all of implications of that decision? Probably not, but I
still would do it all over again the same way in a minute.
It meant giving up the majority of my teenage years, but it also meant my Grandmom having
a much improved quality of life in the sunset of her years.
It also let me get to know what I describe as a kinder, gentler Grandmom in Bristol.
With the passage of time she mellowed. She was not as strict as she was once known
to be. We still kept our Sunday appointment at church but during the rest of the
week, we were pretty relaxed as we established a household routine.
I had my chores _ floors to wash, grass to cut in season _ and she looked
forward to our together time. A moment of quiet time or a little entertainment in
front of the television as the day wound down. She seemed to enjoy the opportunity
to at least partially raise another son.
Her confusion seemed to subside a great deal with the presence of someone else in the
house. She was able to carry on most of her normal routine.
We both got into trouble with one of those routines.
Grandmom had a touch of sugar. But being a great cook, it was hard to keep her sugar
free.
One of her renown recipes was for a cookie she called a Jumble. Don't ask me
where that name came from but I can tell you about the cookie, it was almost pure butter.
It only had enough flour in it to hold it together.
You couldn't even bake it on a cookie sheet, it was so fragile it would brown the edges
too fast, instead you had to bake them on upside down cake pans.
The Jumble itself, you would roll out a wand of dough, maneuver it into a circle, then
gently press it flat. This all had to be done carefully with your fingers. It was a
fragile cookie. As soon as it came out of the oven you would place it in super
fine sugar, both front and back and then let it cool to a nice crispness.
My mouth begins watering just at the thought of those super rich, super
sugar-saturated cookies.
Of course, my Grandmom was not supposed to have them any more but that did not stop
her from baking them or, much to my dismay, hiding a cookie can or two away.
Sugar was one of the things that helped to bring on her confusion. And nine days out
of 10, things were pretty much on a steady course. That 10th day, she would
find the Jumble can and then life could become a little interesting for me.
Even those days were not too bad, we had worked out our routine as to how we would work
out life.
There were some things I could not do and some things I had to miss due to this living
arrangement. Parts of my childhood that had to be sacrificed. But I feel I gained a
lot more than I lost.
I learned responsibility and caring at a young age. I learned how to be independent
and be the male presence in a household. I learned how to be a health care provider
for someone aged. And I learned the special bond that can be established between a
grandmother and a grandson.
I knew from the beginning, that this arrangement could not go on forever. It
was another stroke a few years later that brought it to a conclusion. My Grandmom
could not return home after that last stroke, she had to go to a nursing home. She
needed much more care than even a loving grandson could provide.
We still would have our nightly talks, only now we would have it in the nursing home.
And when it came time for me to graduate from high school, she could not make the
ceremony, but I took my cap and gown to the nursing home and there proudly posed for a
picture next to my equally proud Grandmom.
I was into my second year of college. I was attending a little place called Tarkio
College in Missouri, a mid-sized college run by the Presbyterian Church. It was
early one morning that I received a phone call to report to the Dean's office. I
already knew what the call was for, so I packed a bag and made the walk across campus to
his office.
"I got a call from your father," the Dean explained. "Your grandmother has
passed away."
"When can I get a flight home," was my response.
He looked down at the packed bag in disbelief. "How did you know?"
he asked.
I explained to him I had vividly dreamed the whole event the night before. I dreamed
I returned home to the house my grandmom and I shared. I walked in the door to find
a crowd of people gathered in a knot. When I pushed my way through the crowd, I
discovered they were circled around a coffin and laying there peacefully was my Grandmom.
As I made my way to the coffin's edge, she placed her hand on mine and said it was
alright now. She was alright.
I have only had three such dreams in my life, perhaps three too many, but in each case
they have been completely accurate and just a little spooky.
But I sensed then, as I know now, that my Grandmom was really at peace. There was no
more confusion, there was no more body weakened by strokes. She had gone on to what
she always yearned for, to be in the presence of the Lord.
It was hard saying goodbye to my Grandmom, as it is hard to say goodbye to anyone that you
love and cherish.
Although I was sad, I too was happy. She had been able to spend a lot more
time in her own home than anyone ever expected her too and now she had gone to a home, she
never would have to leave.
I knew my Grandmom was happy to be home.
