A few years after my grandmother passed away and my
grandfather decided to move in with my aunt and uncle, I was given a large box
containing Grandma's belongings. In the box were several binders and papers in
loose folders containing her writing. Grandma loved to write.
Grandma was a woman strong in what she believed, grounded in her Christian
faith, and never afraid to speak up when she thought someone was doing
something to hurt themselves. One of the
things I loved most about her was her love of life and her ability to make
delicious lemonade out of the rotten lemons that life sometimes delivered.
This week while on vacation, I have had the opportunity to
archive Grandma’s writings, all 500 or so pages. One volume contains her typewritten memoirs about
growing up in the twenties and thirties.
Her biological father died when she was eleven months old, leaving her
mother to try and raise Grandma and her siblings on her own. In Memories
of Past Times, my Grandmother wrote:
My father built the house we lived in,
which sat near the river in Georgetown, Illinois. He was a carpenter and also worked on the
railroad repairing tracks. He made all
the furniture in the home. Each piece
was done with tender loving care and finished just right, as it was a gift to
his family. He also made the cradles we
slept in as babies.
When my father passed away, my mother
lost the house my father had built because of back taxes, and had to go to work
in a second hand store to provide food, clothing and shelter for her
family.
In addition to pages of her memories, my grandmother left
behind two wonderful treasures. The
first is an undated handwritten letter titled To all our Grandchildren. Even
though I had perused these same writings when I was first given her writings,
this was the first time I actually saw this soul-revealing letter. She talked about the difficulty of her own
life and her spiritual journey and then provided her own advice to living a
good life. I transcribed this letter and today sent it to all my cousins.
The second treasure has to do with a story my grandmother told her children
while they were growing up. From what I
understand, it was a serial story that she spread over several nights, maybe
even months. My aunts all loved to listen to Grandma's adventure and were disappointed that she never wrote it down. Well, just yesterday I found a faded handwritten
copy of Leilani in the Jungle. It is
difficult to read but I think I can transcribe it for future generations.
When I was asked to be the family historian, I was not sure
how to organize our family history. Now,
I have created a small library containing stories, poetry, and Grandma’s genealogical
research, as well as other things that were special to her. I hope that my family will find as much joy
from reading her memoirs as I do.
