ILA

"Guess what, Grandma? You're a widow!"

I know, not the most tactful thing to say. But at the age of six, tact was not my thing. Sitting at the bar in my great grandma's kitchen, all I was currently thinking about was a fact I'd figured out all by myself. And I know she knew what I meant, because she smiled at me:

"Yes, that's right. I am a widow. Can you spell 'widow'?"

I scrunched up my face, trying to figure out the longest word I'd ever have to spell. Already I had spelled "cake", "spoon", and "sink". Grandma was waiting patiently.

"W...I...D..." My mind blanked, and Grandma stopped what she was doing and looked right at me, and sounded the word out:

"Wuh-id-ow."

"W-I-D-O-W!!!!!"

And she smiled at me. "Widow. That's very good." Coming from her, that was high praise. That's the kind of person my Grandma Ila was.

I remember a woman who found over one thousand names for family history with microfilm because she knew how important it was.

I remember picking apples and raspberries in her garden(and eating them). I remember just sitting and listening to one of her many stories about her childhood.

I remember a woman who came and took care of me and my siblings not once, but three times--each time one of my brothers were born--and stayed as long as we needed her to.

I remember one of the best days of the week was when Grandma came to bring us groceries--bread, milk, eggs, salad, whatever we needed when we needed it. And she would always call to see what she needed.

I remember a woman who threw huge birthday parties for everyone who had a birthday that month. Parties with more people than could possibly fit crowded in her kitchen singing happy birthday to everyone who happened to have a birthday that month.

I remember the room in her house where I first saw "Return of the Jedi" with a bunch of my second cousins, and later babbling to her about the "teddy bears" and the "laser swords"; and even though I'm sure she didn't exactly know what I was talking about, Grandma Ila listened to every word.

I remember the Christmas Nativity that was done every single year in her living room--and the Christmas I was finally allowed to play Mary--and the first year I was actually genuinely happy to get socks and underwear from her. Not a Christmas went by without getting underwear and socks from Grandma--and always just when I needed new ones.

I remember a woman who was always smiling, always generous, and who--no matter how old she got--could still touch her toes.

You are a beautiful woman Grandma Ila. I love you. I miss you.