Gramma

“Gramma, can we come and sleep over? I have so many things to talk to you about.”

Dad recorded that while I was talking with Gramma on the phone back in 1994. I was 5. At the moment, I don’t remember a single thing we talked about that weekend or on the many other occasions that I called or visited Gramma. But I do remember frequently dialing 373-4877 as a kid and as a teenager and chatting for what always felt like hours.

It was never one-sided; Gramma always had something to say back because she always listened. It made me feel big and important to have someone like her to listen to me. I think when I was younger I was a lot more gabby than I am now. Nevertheless, Gramma put up with it. And against all odds, she seemed to enjoy it. Growing up, she may have been my very best and most consistent friend.

One conversation I remember particularly well was one of our computer conversations. As a teenager, I was her resident expert on computers. She would often call me and I would help her with whatever problem she was having. That particular conversation went like this:

Me: OK, first right click on the screen.
Gramma: OK [puts down the phone for 30 seconds]. Alright, done.
Me: Can you read me what the menu says?
Gramma: What menu?
Me: The menu that showed up when you right-clicked on the screen.
Gramma: There isn’t a menu. All it says is click.

I came to find out that she interpreted right click on the screen to mean write click on the screen. Computers were never her forte, but loving her grand kids was.

Whether figuring out computer problems or leaving Coca Cola on her doorstep (and blaming it on Uncle Kevin’s family, of course), we always had fun with Gramma. Birthdays were a blast. Halloween meant a visit from the good witch. Christmas always was accompanied by singing the Twelve Days of Christmas, complete with the posters she must have hand-made back when Lincoln was president. We would often sit on her back porch and listen to her tell stories of her childhood or play thimble (or Red-Light/Green-Light, or Red Rover, or Skip-Bo, or Here Comes the Jolly Butcher Boy, or. . . .) in her backyard.

I owe a great deal to Gramma. Ever since I was about five years old, she would come over every week and give us kids piano lessons. And by the time I was about 10 I’d developed the solid habit of practicing at least once every one or two months. I honestly don’t know how she put up with it. I was an awful student. Kyle and Erin were always perfect but then there was me.

Then at one point during my adolescence when my friends were fewer and my stress was higher, I learned to turn to the piano. The persistence, grit, and love of my Gramma finally started to pay off as I learned to love the music she shared with me. I’m no concert pianist today, but every time I touch the keys I am reminded of my grandmother.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell once quoted G. K. Chesterton in saying, “How much larger your life would be if [you] could become smaller in it.” Gramma was a very small person. I probably physically outgrew her when I was about 10. She was only about 5-foot nothing. But I will never outgrow what Gramma taught me about how to treat people. I know very few people that are able to emanate pure, Christlike love quite the way she did. In that sense, I would be truly blessed if I could grow to be half as large as Gramma.

Although sad that I won’t be able to just talk with Gramma again (at least, probably not for several decades), I am glad that she is now able to be rejoined with her sweetheart, never to be separated again. I don’t plan on it happening any time soon, but I look forward with peace to the time when it will be my turn to join with them in that happy reunion.