Twenty years ago, Chris and I moved our family back to Michigan, where we both grew up and where most of our family lived. I was glad we took the opportunity after getting married to leave and experience other places and people, and I was also glad to return when we did. By then, we had three young kids and felt the importance of our children having a relationship with their grandparents and extended family. I remember how excited I was to go visit my grandmother and re-introduce my kids to their Oma.
My grandmother held a significant, positive place in my childhood memories. As I walked into her room that day, I anticipated her welcome but was still surprised at her words. I leaned in close to embrace her, and she reached her familiar, long hands up to hold my face. I told her how much I had missed her, and she responded “Well I’ve been here, you’re the one who moved away!” And there it was, the familiar mix of kindness with a bit of a sassy edge that was the grandmother I knew and loved.
Last weekend, I had the chance to learn more about my grandmother at a family reunion. My cousins and I shared stories of visiting Grandpa and Grandma’s house, picking out our favorite teacups from Grandma’s china, playing dress-up with her fancy dresses in the attic. We looked through old photographs of her as a young woman in the early 1930’s, her 6-foot-tall, slender build perfectly showcasing the flapper-style dresses of that era. I remember as a young girl being so fascinated with how tall she was and how stylish she looked, finding hope that my own awkwardly tall body could someday appear as graceful as hers.
While my grandmother was never the soft, round, ever-smiling grandma of storybooks, I always felt loved by her. The rather stern lines of her angular face were balanced by the elegance and kindness of her hands. Her hands were always in motion: making food, polishing wood, knitting mittens, placing Scrabble tiles on a game-board, rubbing circles on the back of a sick granddaughter.
My cousins and I shared similar stories of how Grandma would allow us to play with the prominent blue veins on the backs of her hands, providing endless entertainment as we “popped” them and then watched the blood race back in and fill them up again. According to Google, the loss of elasticity and thinning of the skin that comes with age is responsible for the prominence of these veins. As we talked, we laid our hands out on the table, aware that many of us inherited Grandma’s long, slender hands with pronounced veins—evidence that we, too, are getting closer in age to the grandmother of our childhood memories.
I still miss my grandma, who died only a year after our return to Michigan. The young girl in me still longs for the kind, nurturing presence she brought to my life. The adult woman in me longs for the imparted wisdom, the assuredness that comes with long history, and most of all, the ability to simply rest in her presence, knowing I am loved.
While there will always be something special about the space my grandmother holds in my heart, the “old soul” in me has always found it easier to relate to people older than me. In junior high, I visited our elderly neighbors frequently, playing my piano lesson pieces for them on their otherwise unused grand piano. In high school, I frequented the nursing home near our church, playing for their hymn sing, listening to their stories. As Chris and I moved around the country early in our marriage, we made friends in each new place who were older. We loved soaking up their wisdom and warm welcome.
As I look at my hands, aging like my grandmother’s, I am aware that my place is shifting – I am becoming the older woman.
I am honestly ambivalent about this – wanting to protest that I still have so much more to learn and take in, and yet also wanting to welcome opportunities to be the one offering a restful, grounded, kind presence. My hope for me, and for you, is that no matter our age, we would be women known for our kind hands, hands that reach out in welcome, join in connection, and open to release love.
Janet Stark is a woman learning to bless her depth and sensitivity. She is grateful for the deep love she shares with her husband, Chris, and their kids and grandkids. Janet loves curling up with a good book, trying new recipes on her friends and family, and enjoying long conversations with friends over a cup of really good coffee. She is a life-long lover of words and writes about her experiences here.
“…the ability to simply rest in her presence, knowing I am loved.” This is my prayer — a gift I long to consistently give to my husband, children, (especially to) my grandchildren and friends. I often fail miserably, but more often than was once true, I let the love pour out and encircle — unashamed and unprotected by my fear of doing it wrong or getting hurt. Thank you for this reminder of the goodness of presence. I needed the reminder today. Love to you, Christine
Christine, I love this – unashamed and unprotected by my fear of doing it wrong or getting hurt. I know I have felt that encircling love from you, both in person and even in your written words, and it is indeed a gift.
Lovely reflection, Janet. I, too, have fond memories of my grandmothers–thank you for stirring them up for me this morning.
It is so good to remember, isn’t it? I’m glad you have good memories, and that you are taking the time to savor them.
Janet, I love that your grandma had a “sassy edge” and yet was such a stylish, loving, caring woman who obviously impacted her family greatly. I long to be that grandmother to my own grandchildren. Unique, but oh, so loving. Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece of writing that recounts your memories. It is obviously from the depths of your heart.
Barbara, thank you! And yes, it was fun to remember that sassy edge, and the way it fit with her love as well – a good reminder that there are so many ways for us to uniquely bring love with all of who we are to the people around us.
Your writing always inpires me, Janet. Thank you for sharing a bit of your heart and history! Your hope, expressed in the last line, was certainly evident as we met last year. You reached out in welcome, connection and genuine love. Thank you for that gift!
Natalie, thank you. I hope I will see you next week at Brave On!
I love this memory. ❤️
Thank you, Judy. Me too. ❤️
Little did I know as a young girl, how very much I would come to admire my mother, your grandmother. Thank you Janet for capturing the lovely qualities of this beautiful, elegant kind lady.
Thank you, Aunt Janna. I think it often takes time to appreciate our mothers. There is something about being removed one generation that I believe can make it easier to give and receive love without some of the tension of the parent/child relationship. She was quite a remarkable woman, as are you.❤️