Lunch with Grandma

While I was home over Christmas, I got to spend time with members of my extended family, many of whom are over the age of 75. I don’t have a lot of time when I’m home, so I treasure this time I have to spend with family.

I usually share with them what I’ve been up to. I know they pray for me when I’m away, and they wonder what all I do. I listen to them as they tell me what’s been happening there.

Yes, we talk about the present, but we often end up remembering the past. Sometimes the past is just a few years ago, like when my brother and I were younger and scared the cat with our new remote-controlled cars. Or maybe it’s a reminder from my great aunt of the cute things I said when I was a preschooler.

Other times, the past we discuss is decades ago, long before I was born. This is the generation that grew up during the Great Depression and came of age during World War II. These aren’t the “When I was your age, we had to walk to school in three feet of snow, uphill both ways” types of stories. Instead, they’re the “Let me tell you what your uncle Jim used to do to us girls” or “Did I tell you how your grandma and I used to sit together in the one-room school house?” types of stories. They open my eyes to what life was really like. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard them say, “We were poor.” It makes me thankful for what I have, and for their sacrifices over the years.

They also share their thankfulness. Thanks for life. They’ve been in some scary situations that could have ended badly. Thanks for health, even though sometimes failing. Thanks for family who are able to care for them. Thanks for a home to live in. Thanks for money to share with others. And thanks that I took time to visit.

When a stranger looks at my grandma, what do they see? A ninety-year old woman who walks with a cane and cannot hear very well? Someone who struggles to remember parts of a conversation? When an outsider listens to my great uncle, he may see a man who can no longer care for himself. A face value, that’s what they see. Stereotypical images of expired Americans.

But when I look at them, I don’t see their present without remembering their past...remembering what has made them the person they are now. The difference is listening with respect, not with a patronizing attitude. The difference is caring about who they are and what they’ve mean to me, not what they can or cannot accomplish today or how fast they can do it. It’s remembering the good times we’ve shared together.

So while I was home, I had lunch with my grandma and great aunt. I had pie with my great aunt and cousin. I ate dinner with my mom, dad, and brother. I ate pigs in the blanket with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. I shared fudge with my grandma and uncle, and ate cake with my aunt. The food’s not what matters. It’s the company. It’s the time we share together. It’s the memories that are shared and passed on.

I am thankful for my family.

Photos:
Top: Hartman Family Christmas Gathering 2007
Second: My great-grandma, 2 great-great aunts, and great-great uncle Strickler
Third: My grandma with my brother and I
Bottom: Four Generations: My great-grandpa, grandma, dad, and me