Some might say she died of a broken heart. My grandmother, Lois Grace Long Elwell, died peacefully in her sleep last night. She lost the love of her life only two months ago.
I consider myself lucky to know a handful of people who love me unconditionally. My parents and husband are three of those people. My grandmother Lois was another. If she loved you, you knew it deeply, and could feel it down to your bones. She loved her whole family that way: intensely, passionately, affectionately. You knew it because there were tears in her eyes when she greeted you, and tears in her eyes when you left. Her embraces were long and warm. She had a habit of awaiting your arrival from the window of her home, and lingering there, in her doorway, long after you left.
My last memory of visiting her is so poignant. Andy and I stayed in a Warm Beach guest cottage for a few days after Pop passed away. The last night I had to leave Gram, I didn't want to say goodbye. She was reclining comfortably in her chair, and asked me to place a special quilt over her to keep her warm. The patchwork in this quilt was comprised of photographs of her family, different snapshots of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren in time. Her son-in-law's sister made this for her, a truly wonderful gift for a woman who was almost as passionate about quilting as she was of her family. I kissed Gram goodnight, bundled warm with her memories, knowing an aide would come in shortly to help her into her bedclothes. I didn't expect her to get up.
Andy and I put our coats on (it was very cold north of Seattle), and we walked out to the car. After I strapped Andy in to his car seat, I glanced back at the lobby of Gram's apartment building. There she was in her orange-red quilted jacket, cane in her hand, watching us from the window. At 86 years old, having suffered several strokes, getting up was always an effort. She could have easily dozed off in her recliner. But there she was, seeing us safely off, a final gesture of her love.
When I drove just across the street to the cottage, I could still see her white hair and orange jacket. I waved. I don't know if she saw me. Andy and I walked inside, and I peeked out the window. She stayed in the lobby, looking out the window, for some time.
That was how she was. She made time stop when you visited her. A warm and gracious host, she had bread baking in the oven, and crafts planned for her grandchildren: origami boxes from old greeting cards, felt stuffed animals. I remember her stroking my hair as an awkward 14 year old, telling me I was beautiful, and almost believing it because I knew that she did.
When she stayed with us grandkids for two weeks while my parents were in Europe, she listened as I talked about my teachers, and the new ideas I was learning. I can't believe I asked her this, but I did: what did she think of overpopulation? She paused as she loaded a plate into the dishwasher: "I think that only Christians should have lots of children," she replied. Although her optimistic Christian faith contrasted with my pessimistic world views, there was no conflict between us, because she was not a critical or judgmental person. I felt that I could talk to her about anything.
At our most recent visit, she told me that I should have another baby. When Gram brought five babies into the world, she trusted in God that all their needs would be met (and they were). Her motto, written in crosstitch and hanging in her living room: "Use it up, wear it out, make do, do without." She reused and recycled before the words were popular with my generation. She sewed her own and her children's clothing, curtains, quilts and pillows. She insisted on having a sewing machine and table set up in her apartment, long after she was physically able to work with it. She loved to dream about it.
She also valued education. Having earned her own Bachelor's degree, she wanted her children to be college educated. After her five children were grown, she taught sewing classes at the local college.
Gram loved to garden. She loved watching flowers grow and bloom. She looked forward to the spring, even after she lost Pop, because she wanted to plant in her new patio garden.
Gram's unconditional love and eternal optimism are her most enduring traits. Having lost her, I am inspired to pick up her torch...and bring another life into the world.
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