At least once a year when I was young our family would pile into our tiny blue Honda civic, my parents up front and me and my two (at the time) younger brothers stuffed in back. We would set off across the scorching New Mexican desert for a 8 ½ hour trek through Texas and into Oklahoma. Our final destination was the college town of Stillwater, OK and our reason for the long and often epically hot journey was to visit my grandmother, Esther Andrews. We would all be looking out the window in those last few minutes trying to remember little a landmark that would ensure us we were getting close. Then we would make the last turn, the one we all remember and arrive at grandma’s house. By that time we were all usually cagy and tense from the car and the close quarters and ready to stretch our legs. One of us would run excitedly up to the door and Grandma Esther would come out to greet us all with a hug.
My grandmother’s hugs were something that in retrospect were quite extraordinary. She would put her arms around us with an always surprisingly strong embrace. This is something I only thought about later in life but my grandmother was a remarkably strong woman both physically and spiritually. She would always be the driving force in all our vacation activities when we came to visit. We did what grandma thought we should do and went where she thought we should go. My father and his siblings would describe her as stubborn and that was mostly true. She was more than that though. She acted with a sort of inner confidence that was rarely challenged and even less often matched. She was a smallish woman but had a hand shake that would put most young men to shame. Her hugs were always long and full of love.
I always loved visiting grandma. When I was young the reason was strictly superficial. She would, almost without fail, buy at least two boxes of Reese’s Puffs cereal. You see, we would never get Reese’s Puffs at home. They were too expensive or had too much sugar but grandma would always make sure we had some for every breakfast we ate at her house. This small thing means volumes to me now. It holds as proof my grandmother would anticipate our arrival and find a simple and perfect way to welcome us for each visit.
Later in life my reasons for loving our yearly visits changed. As I matured I realized how funny and loving she was. She was humble and outspoken and an amazing cook (especially her homemade bread which at a certain point, with a little butter, cinnamon, and sugar, replaced the Reese’s Puffs as my breakfast of choice). She was also one of the most faithful and spiritual people I have ever met. My personal beliefs about religion aside when my grandmother said she was praying for me, I knew she was and I knew it was a pure and humbling expression of love.
Grandma Esther Also gave me a chance to have one of the most amazing experiences of my life. In early 2001 I had an opportunity to go on a trip to Australia with a group of student ambassadors. The only problem was that I needed a $400 deposit to reserve my spot. A sum that our family could never have afforded at the time. I called some other family members asking for a short term loan of sorts but had no real luck. Until I called my grandmother. She said a check was on the way and not to worry about paying it back. All she requested was that I take lots of pictures and show them to her the next time I was down to visit, which I did the very next fall. She was always full of small selfless acts and occasional bursts of absolute that made her one of the most amazing people I have ever met.
In early December 2009 my father received word that my grandmother was very ill and he might want to come down to see her. He flew down a few days later and gathered with his family at my Aunt Janie’s house in Texas. She had been sick on and off for the previous year or so and this time she had made a decision that she did not want to fight any longer. My father visited with her and then flew back home to be with us for Christmas. When he returned he urged us to call and talk to her as it would likely be our last chance to speak with her. I spent days thinking about what to say to her. I just could not wrap my head around finding the last words I would ever say to someone who has meant a great deal to me. A woman that always had faith in me when no one did, my self included. I actually had such a problem that nearly a week passed. I finally decided I had to do it whether I was ready or not.
Two days before Christmas eve while I was at work. I told my boss I needed a break and I went to the back and called my aunt. She informed me that my grandmother had been in a great deal of pain and had been given a dose of morphine. She was now asleep and I would not be able to talk to her. I asked my aunt to call me as soon as she was awake. As soon as I hung up the phone I started to cry. I just knew that I had missed my chance and I was devastated. I went through the rest of the day fighting back tears and in a state of deep despair.
After work I went home and started writing the first two-thirds of this very blog as a way to settle my emotions. While I was writing I received a call from my cousin. Grandma Esther was awake and wanted to talk to me.
Her voice was weak and I could tell she was crying.
She said she loved me and I said I loved her too.
I thanked her for everything she'd done for me throughout my life.
She told me that if she had ever done anything too offend me or upset me that she was sorry.
I told her that she had never done anything but good for me and my family.
She said "I'll see you in heaven Steven, me and Grandpa will be waiting for you. Just promise me it will be a good long time before you arrive"
I said I would do my best.
We said goodbye and she gave the phone back to my cousin. He asked me what I said because she smiled during our phone call for the first time in days. A flood of tears prevented me from answering.
Two days later my family had just finished eating dinner and two my of brothers, my sister, my parents and I were driving around town looking at the lights (a tradition for us every Christmas eve). We had parked near a business in Kennewick that had an animated/musical light display. After the lights had gone trough one cycle we were just about to leave when my father’s phone rang. We all knew what that meant.
Esther Ida Christensen Andrews died just after 7:30 on December 24, the same day her husband, my grandfather Theodore Andrews had died some two and a half decades earlier. The mood in the car was very somber after that but we still followed through on our traditions as a way to draw closer as a family in a time of deep sadness.
The next day was an almost surreal experience. We did everything we had done on Christmas the same as we had the previous 22 years but we all felt a small piece was now missing. Since that Christmas I have continued to work on this blog and it has taken me two years of rewriting and tweaking and rewriting again. This is still nowhere near the tribute I would like it to be. It is very hard to find words to describe how much someone like my grandma meant to me and what it was like to lose her. Perhaps there are not even words that would ever be adequate.
I will miss my grandma Ester but her legacy lives on through the great man my father is and the great man I will strive to become.
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