This morning, we celebrated the life of my grandmother before laying her remains to rest. I was honored to be one of the six casket bearers, as the eldest son of one of her 6 children. As I stood at the front of the church, I looked at the church full of people. Not just the large family (6 married children, 23 grandchildren (most married) and 44 great-grandchildren), but members of the community and the church. They came in from across the country to honor a woman who lived a long life before her body gave out.
Wilhelmina Zwart was born in 1916 and died, nearly 90 years later, on my 31st birthday. Though Wilhelmina is what her birth certificate says, pretty much everyone in the family called her Grandma. Everyone else called her Minnie. And, there were a lot of "everyone"s to call her that. Her house was a hub of activity every time I was ever there. Extended family, neighbors and friends were constantly dropping in for coffee and an occasional game of dominos (though good luck beating her).
The funeral, the meal afterward, and the 6 hour road trip each way has given me ample opportunity to bring back memories of Grandma.
Of course, I only knew her in the last 30 or so of her 90 years, which meant that most of her life preceded mine. That included the entirety of her 33 year marriage to my grandfather Edward (thus my middle name), who died 2 years before I was born. That also included her life actively running the household of a busy farming family and the era before she learned to drive at the age of 57.
By the time I met her, she lived in town in a house built for entertaining, with my farming uncles renting the farm from her. She drove a Chevy Citation (the only car I ever remember her owning - my sister has it now) all over the place, making up for lost time. She cooked for those visiting her home as well as those in the community, helping the "elderly" when she was, herself, nearly 80.
For many years, Sunday dinner was a weekly ritual, drifting toward biweekly as time went on and people got busier and older. Being a state away, my family didn't get to participate in that many of them, but I remember those I was part of vividly. Grandma had a basement "hall" pretty much designed to be able to handle setting up one long table for 25+ people to eat.
After church, the adults would gather in the parlor, eating cookies and drinking coffee. The kids were all in the basement until the meal began. The food was served buffet style with Grandma's rules in strict effect for the order in which you ate. Age and being female got you to the front of the line, which meant I was usually toward the back.
A ritual prayer was said by the grandchildren prior to forks being lifted and loud conversation and laughter ensued once the utinsils started. Visitors who ate with my family for the first time always commented on how much active conversation and laughing happened at meals.
Once the main meal was completed, there was ALWAYS dessert. Everyone got a plate, but taking a bite before Grandma took her first bite was a cardinal sin. Cleanup was a communal affair, with everyone, from the oldest to the youngest pitching in to bring items up to the kitchen. Those dinners will stick in my memory forever.
So will the house itself. It was built specifically for her by my Uncle Mer and was decorated to her individual taste. Lots of people do that, but very few do it with the flair that ends up with a master suite decorated in white and bright red. The crown jewel of this design was a huge, red clawfoot tub on a raised platform. This was in the 70's before houses started coming regularly featuring spa tubs. That tub is featured in at least one baby picture for each of my siblings.
I'm sure the memories will keep flooding back over the weeks and months to come and, while some make me sad, almost every one of them also makes me smile.
Grandma, you will be missed.