When I was a kid, those choose-your-own-adventure books were my favorite. Remember those? In my life, 2012 was a year that contained plenty of adventures, of which I’ll always have fond memories. I could write endlessly about them, but these words are not intended to be about all those things. This one’s about my grandma, and it’s about a personal project I gave myself at the very beginning of the year.
Growing up, Gram lived just up the road from my folks. I’m an only child—and so is my mom—so we were all quite close. When I was in grade school, Gram and I would spend Friday evenings watching TGIF on one of the local television channels. We’d order sausage pizza from Pizza Hut and make forts in her living room. She always cooked up some of the best breakfast, and she would have those choose-your-own-adventure books.
Thanksgiving and Christmas time was just about the best one-month stretch of the year, as both her and my mom enjoyed baking and being together. It was always just the four of us, my dad included… pretty low-key and always enjoyable. My fondest memories will always be of holiday time at home.
Several years ago when I was still in college and living with my folks, Gram moved in with us. She was convinced that I needed a meal in front of me all twenty-four hours of the day, and she was also convinced that I always had laundry that needed to be folded. She was correct nearly always. Then after college, I moved out of my folks’ house and Gram went to live in a couple different assisted-living homes in Lawrence and Baldwin.
To step back and elaborate for a moment, at the beginning of 2012 I made it a goal to go spend some time with Gram each Wednesday morning. A few minutes past nine o’clock I’d always be able to find her waiting stoically for me just inside the front door. “I wanted to make myself visible just in case you might miss me,” she’d say, as if there was a real possibility that I’d turn around and leave if I didn’t see her the minute I walked through the door.
I made sure to always take my camera and a pencil to keep track of the funny things she’d do and say. She nearly always had some kind of fairly offensive comment about an innocent passer-by, or a matter-of-fact piece of advice about my weight or haircut. I appreciated them most of the time.
We talked about the weather in Arkansas, where she was from. We sat outside watching the flag fly. We listened to the neighbors make small talk. We chatted about the latest technology—mostly her pondering what “they” were going to “come up with next.” We did word-searches and pieced together jigsaw puzzles. We looked at the pictures on my cell phone. We ate Cheetos and peppermint patties. We counted down the days until Thanksgiving. And more often than not we just sat together.
After a full year of Wednesday mornings with Gram, I had collected a small handful of photos that showed some of the personality, teaching, opinion, and character that Gram left on me.
More often than not, we just sat together.
Gram eventually found her way to a nursing home in Wellsville, Kansas—a thirty-minute drive down a rural road that seemed to have a personality of its own—where she played Wacky Ball and nickel Bingo, and was the in-house cat’s favorite resident. She turned ninety-two on October 2, and then on December 1 she picked her own next adventure and went to be with Jesus.
It’s interesting how much a person can teach you without using many words at all, from a wheelchair, with not much physical ability. Interesting how you slow down to just the right speed after driving through the country and sitting down for two hours with someone whose only concerns are the weather and whether her wristwatch is working. Interesting that I’m still learning from her, remembering just now all the little things she did and said in given situations over the years. And interesting how, without harping or preaching, she encouraged me to repeatedly choose my own adventure.
Gram would most definitely shake her head at the idea that I’d put her pictures where strangers can see them. To be candid, while I’m terribly compelled to put these words and pictures in public’s view, I can’t explain exactly why. Perhaps the whole deal has reemphasized the power of a photograph to me. Or maybe it’s just showed me, again, the power of relationships and the power of stories.
More than anything, I’m grateful to have had lots of time with Gram. This project and the resulting stories developed into something so dear to me that I’m unable to really comprehend it. Something that I most certainly wouldn’t trade for anything.
To relate it a bit, the fact that I get to preserve feelings and document stories for families and couples year in and year out… that’s really, really cool to me—and I get the biggest kick out of how a photograph only gains potency over time.