Dear Grandma,
Ninety years ago, your mother said "yes" to the gift of life and you were born...I guess I would even venture to say that "Schwalm Spirit" was born at this time as well. I've only known you for 32 of these years, but those who know you best and longest have shared stories, and I feel I've known you for much, much longer.
My earliest memories of you were of simple and happy things. Family get-togethers. Donuts on Sunday mornings. Birthday parties. Personalized teddy bear sweatshirts. Bulk bags of blow-pops in the dining room buffet table drawer. Afghans draped over our couches, a constant reminder of you.
As I got older, I remember actually realizing the first day when you became one of my dearest friends. We bonded over silly things like the color purple, CHOCOLATE and cross stitch. We Instant messaged each other on AOL. One Christmas season, you even agreed to let me tag along on a shopping trip with you and aunt Deb. (I totally underestimated the two of you. I practically chased you through a crowded mall as you navigated stores like professional marksmen. I never told you, but my teenage body was sore that night and my respect for you rose 10 times that day.)
You always supported my education. You cared, genuinely. You were thrilled for me when I was accepted to nursing school and you laughed at my tales of naked men running down the hospital hallways. You cheered me on in my triumphs at clinical and listened intently while I grieved over terrible teachers. You shared stories of your own experiences and helped me grow in ways I can never express.
We did fun things together. We played cards at the cottage, took walks, and went bowling. You accepted my husband Matt into your heart and life like he was one of your own. We went car shopping with you and out to pizza. We laughed. A lot. I love your laugh.
But I can truthfully say that I never ever fully appreciated your friendship until I became a mother. When Sarah was born, I remember you holding her for the first time. I still cry when I think about it. "My grandmother is holding my daughter," I remember thinking. You've held each of my six babies. And each time it affects me more deeply than the one before. The love, care, compassion and strength you have passed down through the generations is overwhelming. Your knowledge and sense of humor about raising a family have gotten me through some of the most difficult times in my parenthood. I can think of more than a half dozen times I spoke with you about the terrible, awful, no good, very bad time I was having with such and such child...and you just laughed. Heartfelt chuckling. I never got upset when you'd laugh. It made me realize the simplicity and temporary nature of these issues of mine. And it made me grateful that I knew someone who'd weathered the battlefield of motherhood before me. You had some scars to show for it, but were nevertheless a whole and completely loving person.
When you made the time and took the energy to come to my home this past November for Thanksgiving, you gave me the greatest gift. You walked through our house, sat on our couch and took time to talk to me. I was so excited to show you that I have reminders of you everywhere. From the blankets you've made for all our children to your framed needlepoint hanging on our walls and your handwritten notes taped inside my cupboards. You are a huge part of our home, our family and who I am.
So even though we are separated by 90 miles, I've realized that distance doesn't matter. You are a part of my every day life. And I thank God for each and every one of those 90 years that have made you who you are.
Thank you for everything you do and everything you are. You mean the world to me. I love you.
Xoxoxo-
Anne
