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Lemon Drop Pie

~ Motherhood after breast cancer

Lemon Drop Pie

Tag Archives: Lutheran

A Source of Comfort

02 Monday Nov 2009

Posted by Ginny Marie in breast cancer, faith, family

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

cousins, Jesus, Lutheran, memory, nablopomo

My Uncle Rolland was a tall, thin man. While I was growing up, I only saw him when our families were on vacation together. He was the type of man who wore his black dress socks and shoes with shorts. He occasionally stepped outside to smoke a cigarette with my Uncle Art. When my dad and his brothers were playing catch with a watermelon, one of them threw the watermelon at Uncle Rolland. He looked at it and didn’t flinch. It smashed on the ground at his feet. He looked at it, drink in hand, and said, “I wasn’t going to catch that!” My cousins and I thought he was hilarious. We had so much fun on those family vacations of ours.

It was during one of those vacations that I found out my uncle was sick. I was sitting by him and he waved his hand at his legs, showing me bruises. He probably said something along the lines of “These are a result of this affliction of mine.” He had been diagnosed with leukemia. That summer he and I talked about having cancer; I was going through chemotherapy and my hair was beginning to fall out. I would run my fingers through my hair and release it onto the beach. Uncle Rolland said the doctors told him he wouldn’t lose his hair to chemo, which he was about to begin.

I gained comfort on that vacation, talking with my uncle about an affliction we both had in common. We had different diseases, different treatments, but we both had cancer. Uncle Rolland endured a lot more chemotherapy than I did. I was fortunate enough to see him several more times before he was taken to his true home about a year and a half after that summer.

For all the saints who from their labors rest,
All who by faith before the world confessed,
Your name, O Jesus, be forever blest.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia! Alleluia!

Text: William W. How, 1823-1897

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A Century

01 Thursday Oct 2009

Posted by Ginny Marie in faith, family

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Lutheran, memory

Sometime in the beginning of February in 2006, my cousin called. “When are you going to see Grandpa?” she asked. I hadn’t planned on going to Iowa until Memorial Day weekend, but my cousin insisted we go soon. She thought Grandpa might not be around if we waited until May.

I called my mom, insisting on details. The last I had heard, Grandpa was still doing well. My mom confessed; Grandpa had fallen off the stoop to his apartment building, and had badly wrenched his neck. Nothing was broken, but the pain had made Grandpa slowly decline.

By the time my cousin and I arrived, Grandpa was already in a semi-conscious state. He acknowledged our presence, but was unable to respond much more than that. Over the next couple of days, he slipped into an unresponsive state. As the end grew near, we gathered in his bedroom and sang his favorite hymns. As he took his last breath, we were grateful that he was able to die at home, surrounded by his family.

At his 90th birthday party, Grandpa gave a speech that told about his life. He was a member of Toastmasters, and had given a speech or two before. He had held many jobs, including working in a airplane factory during the war, delivering the mail, and owning apartment buildings. Once, when my mother was growing up, he was going to sell cashews out of vending machines. The cashews were delivered, but the vending machines never did. No food was ever wasted in my grandparents house, so their family ate cashews in everything. When the cashews grew stale, Grandma toasted them in the oven. My mom still won’t even touch a cashew, to the delight of her cashew-loving children.

My grandfather could get extremely angry, but yet would never swear. My mom said that worst he used to say was “Son of a B!” She would picture a little baby bee flying around when she was little. He would whistle “Zippity-a-dee-do-dah” and knew how to play the violin, although I never heard him play.

He lived to be 96 years old. Grandpa lived a full life, and we think of him often. On October 1st, Grandpa would have been 100 years old. Happy birthday, Grandpa!

To see a picture of my grandparents dancing at my wedding in 2002, click here.

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