Grandma's Gift, Part I

6EasterB, Sullivan Park Care Center, May 10, 2015 by Annette Fricke

            I am a quilt.  My job is to become the soft, comfortable place where people can meet, tell about their dreams and their sorrows.  My journey began when I was made by Grandma.  She gave me as a wedding present to Mom and Dad. I was brand new.  I had a garden of flowers on me and was brightly colored in shades of pink, yellow and red with green stems that reached from corner to corner, from side to side. On the bottom were the words, “Abide in my love.  John 15:9b.” I was special and meant for special work.  Mom and Dad were married in 1943, during World War II.  Love was in the air but even though finances were tight, they had dreams of a farming business and many children to help on the farm.  Mom had no idea what she was getting into because she had never lived on a farm and only had one brother.  She worked hard cleaning chickens, but needed the help of her more experienced sister-in-law getting the chicken feathers off the bottom of the cupboards and kitchen floor. At the end of each day, Mom and Dad settled in for the night under the quilt.  It was a gift of comfort for all those long days.

            Before long, the quilt was there for the first child, Son #1.  He was born in 1943. I held him, providing a soft place to change his diapers and to cover him when he was nursing on Mom. An accident occurred when he was just two.  He was playing in the yard when Dad didn’t see that he was there and somehow backed the truck over his head.  He was rushed to the doctor, but they were unable to do anything.  His eyesight was permanently damaged.  He would need stronger and stronger eyeglasses every year.  School was difficult.  He felt isolated and alone because Mom and Dad didn’t have the opportunity for education past high school.  His dream of becoming a doctor would never be realized because math and Latin were just too difficult to learn. I cried for him and encouraged him to seek a way to serve God in the world.  I wondered if I would go with him to his family, but that was not to be.  Mom cried at his wedding.  The silver gloves she wore were oh so pretty and sparkling, but the silver ran onto her arms and face as tears of love and sorrow flowed freely.

            Son #2 came on a cold, snowy day in 1946.  His personality was entirely different.  This son was quiet and shy, but very smart and independent.  He was soon joined by Son #3 who was born in 1947.  I was disappointed when they became best buddies and picked on Son #1.  They liked to conspire and pull tricks on Son #1 and laugh and laugh.  They thought it was funny and that Son #1 in their opinion was way too serious.  Son #1 thought at one point that he wanted to be a pastor.  It remained a mystery as to why that never panned out.  Maybe he was thinking about the words on me that read, “Abide in my love” and thought that would best serve the Lord, to abide in God’s love.  Forgetting the family history, Sons #2 and 3 decided to join the military voluntarily before the government had the chance to draft them.  Son #3 had flunked all his college courses except Golf, so he was definitely at risk for the draft. They didn’t have the option of evading military service, like Uncle Charlie who went to Canada.  I’m sure that by now they had heard that their great-great grandfather came to this country so he wouldn’t have to serve in the Prussian Army. Mom and Dad worried about them, especially when one of their friends was killed in a helicopter in Viet Nam in 1969.  That made the whole family sad.  Despite that, Son #3 stayed in the Air Force and met a woman in Spain on one of his tours of duty.  They were married not long afterwards in the States.  Mom wanted him to marry in a church, like she did; but instead, they were married by a military chaplain.

            Daughter #1 arrived in the late fall of 1951.  She became the apple of Dad’s eye.  Nothing she could say or do was wrong in his sight.  He bragged about her all over town.  She was his favorite and everyone knew it, including Son #4 and Daughter #2.  She stayed close to home and after being jilted by her steady boyfriend of four years, married another guy.  She became a nurse, but if you asked Dad, she was smart enough to be a doctor. 

            Daughter #2 arrived in 1957.  Son #4 arrived in 1960.  Daughter #3 arrived in 1969.  At that point, Mom was tired and suffering even more from heart disease.  Having all those kids and being involved in all those lives took its toll.  It was time for Mom to have a hysterectomy.  It was medically necessary. Though Mom, loving kids as much as she did, wanted more children she was actually almost forty-four years old when Daughter #3 was born.  The structure of the family changed immensely at that point.  Daughter #1 began cooking all the suppers and helped taking care of Daughter#3.  Daughter #2 did all the baking.  Daughter #2 and Son #4 did the dishes after every supper and meals on weekends.  By this point, after seeing seven children and going through the wedding anniversaries, I was tattered and torn, worn to pieces in places I’d never imagined.  The flowers I so gracefully displayed had become faded and some were ripped off from baby’s hands, hands that clung tight to me and rolled and played on me.  But through it all, the words on the bottom remained, “Abide in my Love.”

            Son #4 decided that he wanted to be a veterinarian.  Never mind that he never seemed to be around when Daughter #2 helped Dad with the pigs, sheep, cows, and chickens.  He despised chickens.  They were just stinky, pooping things that pecked at your hand when gathering their eggs. They were messy when you had to pluck their feathers and clean out the insides to prepare for cooking.  I never understood why Dad allowed all those 4-H projects for the kids.  He’s the one that did most of the work.  He’s the one who brought spoiled grain slop home from work and cat food for the cats.  What a menagerie!  There were animals all over the place!  But still, this was his way of abiding in God’s love.  He loved his wife, the people of the town, the kids, and the animals on the farm.  This was a way of life he grew up with and continued as he grew older.

            And Mom grew up in the little church just six miles down the road where Grandma lived until her death in 1970.  Grandma was an organist at one point, serving God in that way and being an ear for all of Mom’s heartaches, all seven of them.  I see her bringing comfort to Mom just like I did.  I hear the organ swells, the powerful pipe organ, so loved by her and the congregation.  I see her eyes light up in joy as she leads the congregation in singing.  I savor the words I longed to drive home to all her grandchildren as she plays the beloved hymn in the last verse, the foot pedals fully engaged: “Hold thou thy Cross before my closing eyes, Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies; Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.  I sigh deeply as I remember Grandma and remember how hard it was to learn English and wish I could join in the final sung Amen, but alas, I am just a quilt.