I recently re-acquainted with a childhood friend (this is a small, small world, my friends) and she shared how fondly she remembers traveling to 'the farm' on John R, where we played for hours in the garden and backyard, always supplies with peanut butter cookies and fresh raspberries. It pleased me so much to know someone would remember a place I love so dearly with such affection. Around that kitchen table, we crammed way more people than really should have fit, drank way more Cokes than our parents would ever allow (ask Pat about this), played way too many games of Yahtzee than anyone should play in her entire life, and shared laughter, tears, and really, really, REALLY good food, often fresh, canned or frozen from the garden or caught in a Michigan lake (she was quite organic before it was cool). The summer was for Vernors and ice cream; the winter for chicken goulash and macaroni & cheese. Gram was always up for our version of an adventure (walks to 'the little store,' the creek, or 7-11 for Slurpees) and she came along for many of the awards ceremonies, games, and shopping trips, too. Much later in life, she discovered pizza and her frequent trips to Pizza Hut's lunch buffet amused us to no end. She used to get so 'mad' at Pat for asking how many pieces she'd actually eaten. (After writing this paragraph, I'm going to start blaming her for my obsession with food .. clearly, she influenced me in that regard.) She loved in the form of food, among many other ways.
Gram truly delighted in the simple pleasures and determinedly encouraged the same in all of us. She relished time with each individually but was happiest when we were all together. She celebrated victories and lamented sorrows. We knew her home was a place of refuge, her heart one of unconditional love. I remember truly fighting with my dad only once in my life and as the yelling really escalated, I remember running out of the house on Harrison, screen door slamming, screaming, "Please just let me call Grandma, she'll come for me. Please just LET ME CALL GRANDMA." You would've thought he was beating me .. Relaying the story not long ago to my cousin Teresa, she laughingly admitted that she recalled similar scenarios at her house while she and her siblings grew up. She'll also tell you that she was Grandma's favorite; this is not true .. it was me, obviously. In this month of October pink surrounds us. The cheerful hue splashed everywhere reminds us of those who are fighting, fought, survived, or succumbed to their battle with breast cancer. I consider Gram a survivor of this particular disease and like to think it's because her name is Rose. She embodied all that the color has come to represent: hope, faith, life. She was pink before Susan G. made it iconic. She fought with every ounce of her being through those months of treatment and surgery and then celebrated with great joy and love of life during her recovery. A year or so later, in her final days, we gathered in her home which represented so much love and surrounded her as the family with whom she shared so much joy. It's only years later that I'm able to acknowledge that her death taught a lesson of faith in God's timing - it was her time. Right up until the end, she taught a lesson of trust and - always - love, not as much with words as with action.
The photograph in my kitchen is strategically placed where I can't avoid it. On the rough days, it reminds me of the strong, faith-filled, and loving women who have come before me and guide me on my path. On the better days, it reminds me of the strength I hold and the love I have to give the world. "I believe in pink."
And just in case you need a reminder about what life just might be about, here's the quote in its entirety:
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