January 20, 2011
Anderson, IN
Outside the snow is falling, steadily softening the humdrum hurry of an otherwise ordinary Thursday. The funeral of my great Grandmother, Helen Ogden ended just a couple of hours ago. It was a nice service. The minister hadn’t known Grandmother except for a solitary meeting, but he did an admirable job, all things considered. He spoke of her sweetness, and sweet she certainly was. I don’t think I ever heard her speak a cross word to anyone. Almost all of the family was there, minus the handful of us who live out of town, and it was a nice way to say goodbye to a woman we all loved—a woman who lived a long happy life. She lived to be 103 and died on the same date that her husband did 26 years earlier-- January 17.
When I think of her life, and my relationship with her, I keep thinking of gratitude. When you’re a child, you’re inclined not to pay very close of attention to your older relatives. They exist all too often, like the furniture of your life, always there, familiar, comfortable but not often the focus of our busy playful lives. If we are lucky though as we get older, and we are careful to pay attention, sometimes we begin to see those older relatives as the people—the treasures---that they truly are. People with rich stories, which are also part of our story. People without whom we would not be here. I am grateful that I was lucky enough to get to know my great grandmother in this way.
When my kids were born, a few years ago, a desire grew in me to learn more of my family’s story. Growing up I had not known the names of any of my ancestors who were not still living. I wanted something different for my kids. I decided to see what I could learn, so that I can share it with them, when the time comes. This was one reason I was able to grow closer with Grandmother. I was lucky that her mind was still sharp enough, near the age of 100 to remember stories of her grandparents, Adalasta and Neomi Reynolds. (--both of whom were born around the time of the Civil War) She recounted how he worked in a saloon (though he never drank a drop) and would be gone all night, so she would go and stay with her grandmother Neomi. She told me that it was from her grandmother that she got her love for plants. “My grandmother always had lots and lots of flowers growing. I think that must be where I got the gardening bug” she told me.
When Grandmother learned that Audrey and I had gardens of our own, she would always want to know what we were growing. It would send her back in her mind, and she would begin telling me how Oscar (her husband) used to hill potatoes or plant corn—how he did this or that. They were sweet memories for her. Grandmother always loved to garden. In fact she was out there pulling weeds right up until her 100th birthday. Now that she is gone I can see that whenever I am in my garden, the thought of her will not be far away.
I am going to a city
Where the streets are golden laid
Where the trees are always blooming
And the roses never fade.
Here they bloom but for a season
Soon their beauty is decayed
But I am going to a city
Where the roses never fade….
I’m no theologian. I don’t know much about what happens when we die, or what heaven might look like-- but my hope for Grandmother is that--in whatever way it might happen---she is re-united with Oscar and her parents, her grandparents and all her brothers and sisters. I also hope that heaven has a big garden, where grandmother’s roses never fade. That is an image I will hold in my mind, Grandmother walking through heaven’s garden, delighting in the flowers, and smiling. That seems to me a decent hope.
Collin Taylor
Glad to see you back at this writing! What a beautiful tribute to your grandmother.
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