Goodbye, Grandma

I have a beautiful framed portrait of my Grandma and Grandpa, taken when they were still a young couple. My Grandpa, who died before I was born, looks like Clark Gable, only more conventionally handsome, if you can believe it, and not as goofy looking -- pencil mustache, cleft chin, hair slicked back, dressed in a neat suit.

My Grandma doesn't look like any particular movie star -- in fact, I think she looks a little more contemporary -- sure, the white dress adorned with flowers is a classy 1930s or 40s style, as is the oversized Summer hat and curled hair -- but the look on her face is not the puppy-dog romanticism of someone like Lillian Gish. It's more determined and independent -- there's a sweet, relaxed smile on her lips and contended look in her eyes, but there's strength there as well. And, this was before she was forced to really become independent after my Grandpa's early passing, when she became a single, working mother of two children.

When people come over to visit, sometimes they look at the portrait and ask who it's a picture of. So, I tell them, my grandma and grandpa. And, many times, they don't believe me. "No," they say, "It's someone famous, right? It's the picture that came with the frame, right?" No, I say, that's them. Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandma passed this early afternoon. She grew short of breath and her heart stopped. She was in her early 90s. My mom and sister, who was in town for my mom's upcoming retirement party, were on their way to visit her when she died. They had a moment to be alone with her before she was taken away, and soon she'll return home to Ohio, where she grew up and lived most of her life until the last few years when she moved to Oregon so my mom could help take care of her.

We used to call her Grandma Fufu, I guess because we couldn't pronounce her last name, Ferry. She came to visit a lot when my sister and I were still young, and there were many summer vacations to Ohio to visit her over the years, in the same house where my mom grew up.

One story my Grandma always told about me was the day she was playing with me and I crawled up onto the back of the couch to watch a red robin outside the window. She said I pointed at it and said, "Wobin." I'm not sure why that stuck in her head, but it was one story she often repeated to me, and now it's stuck in my head, too.

At every holiday meal, when the family would get together, Grandma would make sure to mention how bad she felt for the people out there who didn't have anything to eat or any family to be with. Then, she'd clean her plate, as if she still had a teenager's appetite. The first time I witnessed her amazing plate cleaning skills, I pointed it out. After that, she never let me get away from the table without beating me to the punch and pointing it out herself, even the last time I saw her.

She couldn't have raised two more different children -- my Uncle, Jim, a passionate, opinionated man, always with a story to tell and always with something up his sleeve, and my mom, Jane, who is organized, responsible, detail oriented and likes to follow the rules. My guess would be that my Uncle Jim is more like my Grandpa was, and my mom is more like my Grandma was, even down to following in her footsteps and becoming a teacher. But, my mom and Uncle do have some things in common --both are fiercely independent and natural leaders, traits they clearly got from Grandma. They also both have a great sense of humor. I never knew my Grandma to be a great joker, beyond brief, memorable moments, but she must have been, by virtue of the fact that she raised a couple of her own jokers.

When I think about my own family, I often think about the balance my mom is able to strike between being warm, loving and funny while also taking on the role of the one to hold the family together, get things done, and make sure business is taken care of. I think this trait must be a tribute to my Grandma's example.

My Grandma never stopped loving my Grandpa after he passed on, around 50 years ago. She always had his memory with her. Now, we all have our memories of her with us, forever.