A Joy to All
August 16, 2020 § 3 Comments
Sitting at my place at the kitchen table, I heard the soft creaking of her rollator as it glided down the hallway and into sight, my lovely grandmother at the helm. Her eyes were bright, her smile wide as she answered my greeting in disbelief that I had heard her. But I had been waiting for that sound since early morning, waiting for the time we would spend together that day. Once she had settled into her chair facing the window, oxygen tubing detangled, newspaper open for her on the placemat, we both settled in, opening our respective sections of the paper, sitting in comforting silence and watching the birds fly to and from the tree outside the window. Soon I’d brew the coffee and fix us bowls of cereal, my grandmother’s always alongside a banana. We would be there for several hours each morning, facing each other, doing word puzzles in the paper or on our tablets, and chiming in periodically with a word, or a song, in my case. Her presence was calming, maternal, like an embrace, and I felt at peace.
Joy “Elaine” Ferrell, my grandmother, was a person of irreplaceable joy, love, and generosity. She exuded kindness. To be in her arms was to find comfort and peace and unconditional love. She was as sweet as the treats she used to bake. And she was stubborn, doing things her own way, holding steady. No one ever uttered a negative word about her.
So when she died, on September 27, 2019 at age 94, I found myself in a vacuum. What would I do without the life-giving love and encouragement my grandmother gave me? How could I go on from here?
She had been sick for a long time, each year getting progressively more debilitated and ending up in the hospital multiple times to control her congestive heart failure. I had lived with her for the last three years of her life, and I saw her life getting harder and more isolated, especially when she could not leave the house anymore. Through all of this she maintained an inexplicably positive attitude. The only worry with respect to her health that she expressed was the condition of her hairdo. When it came to pain and discomfort, she was strong and stoic.
Her death came not as a surprise, as I had seen her health decline over the time I lived with her, but definitely as a shock to the system. Hospitalized again for congestive heart failure, she just could not regain her breath. Strapped to a bipap machine, she held on to life with all she had, just like my other grandmother, Estelle, who passed away in 2011. But eventually, after being transferred to hospice, she decided to have the breathing machine removed. Surrounded by family at the hospice location, my grandmother, I’m sure, felt the comfort she needed to let go. I was not there. I had moved back to Virginia to start school, and I just couldn’t get up to Pennsylvania in time. But thanks to the help of my cousins, I was able to make a video call and say goodbye. During the call she asked if I was tired. I said yes and asked her the same question. She replied, “Yes. I’m dead tired.”
“I love you” were the last words we exchanged.
So here I am today, on the day of her birth, with a bowl of bran flakes, the requisite banana, and a cup of coffee (also requisite), thinking about, reflecting on, my grandma’s life and death. Sometimes I despair because I know that the vacuum her life occupied can never be filled. Every little thing reminds me of her, from the elephant figurines she gave me, to the cereals in my pantry, to the portraits I made of her and my grandfather so many years ago. These things bring on a sense of longing, but also comfort. For the memory of my beloved grandmother, Elaine, brings such warmth and such hope to the spirit. I know that she is with me still, and that my loneliness without her can never diminish her enduring presence in my life.
In celebration of your 95th birthday, Mommom
Love always,
—LC, 2020
STELLA 
Beautifully written, Lauren. I can picture the two of you sitting in Mom Mom’s kitchen. Seems just like yesterday. May God bless you always with the comfort & peace you felt in MomMom’s arms. Love you! Aunt Karen
Thank you Aunt Karen. Mommom is so special to me. I wanted to see if I could capture part of her in this. Blessings –LC
Love this so much! Thank you for sharing your memories of her and capturing her so eloquently.