Hello from my little corner,
Sometimes we are called to remember, to give thanks for those things, places, or events, which in some way influence or define the person we’ve become. I think there are definitely those things or events that are quite easy to point to for me. Collectively, health has been a series of events from surgeries to diagnosis, from medical concerns to simply managing a life begun earlier than planned. Things, on the other hand, might seem a bit more nebulous at moments, but nonetheless, the consequences help solidify them. Adoption, a person’s passing, an ordination, a new tenure-track position, each of them necessitated a change that transformed my life trajectory. The importance of, the degree to which, or the aggregate nature over the spans of my life are not always clear to me. Certainly, the opportunities I have had to travel have transmogrified me, my understanding of the world and myself. When people ask me what is my favorite travel experience or where is my most memorable location, there is no simple answer. Undoubtedly, the beauty of the Keweenaw Peninsula, and particularly the drive turning left on 41 to go toward Eagle River and Eagle Harbor and eventually Copper Harbor as beautifully stunning as anywhere. The picture above is on that drive. My worldly travels have been of profound importance and established an understanding of the other, a connection to the other that has grown a sense of awe and empathy that would have never happened without those experiences. While København, Oslo, Prague, Murcia, Moscow, and Budapest are influential, Kraków holds a special place in my heart like no other. And yet when I think about what means more to me than anything, it is not any of these. It is a person. Her name was (is) Louise Ethel (nee Hannestad) Lyman. Officially, she was my paternal grandmother, but she was also my principal parent from before I was two years old until my sister, Kris, and I were adopted by the Martins in May of 1960. She is the first parent I remember.
She was (and is until today) the only person I have completely trusted and believed to love me unconditionally. I have referred (and still do) to her as my hero in life. She was, like all of us, flawed, and struggled with significant demons following the death of her husband and father within 6 months of each other. However, thanks to an elder sister was able to get back on track and live her life. She was dedicated to her work and her grandchildren, and she had an elegance to her that I believed to be simply normal. I know now that it was just another reason she was exceptional. Her kindness and support of her employees and her sense of appropriateness (I think her most vulgar expression might have been damn), her adherence to being polite in all circumstances was unparalleled. I think I would probably disappoint her with my use of vernacular language. I lived with her a second time after that initial time, the summer between my junior and senior of high school, and that time might have been more consequential in spite of the fact it was only three and a half months compared to three and a half years at the beginning of my life.
So what is it that created such trust and admiration for her? First – it was how she gave without exception, and with such willingness. And the love that imbued every action she took still stuns me. Her smile and her gentle manner created a sense of safety I have never felt since. The gentle spirit that permeated 4547 Harrison Street, or how the breakfast she fixed each morning, which is still my comfort food, set a standard for goodness and provided hope I have seldom felt since. As I have noted in other posts, when I decorated my house on The Acre, there were things, not always realized or planned, that recreated some aspect of my preschool home with her. From the sort of country kitchen to the sort of circular pathway that replicated the movement in her house. Those parallels would sometimes dawn on me unexpectedly, revealing how deeply things she did or provided have remained in my heart in spite of her physical absence in my life since that late September day in 1977. Perhaps it is the lack of direction (and therefore safety) that I currently feel; possibly it is my scattered existence; perhaps it is again that incredible sense of melancholy or loneliness that often is the deepest most consistent feeling I know. What I would give to have a chance to sit down with her and simple hear her voice, experience her smile, and hopefully sense that the profound love I always felt, even when I might have disappointed her.
I know there are times I took her for granted, and the degree to which and depth of how I am profoundly sorry is immeasurable. There is one time I remember clearly the profundity of pain we both felt one rainy cold afternoon when my mother had kicked me out of the house yet again. I threw a few things into my car, telling my father as he arrived home and I was leaving what happened, and drove to the bakery, hoping to return to Harrison Street. When my father had begged me to come back home only weeks before, my choice to return to Riverside hurt my grandmother to the core, and we had both cried when I left. So now when I asked to return, her eyes welled up in tears and she told me she could not allow that to happen because she was in such pain. I was frightened and it was the first time she told me no. I ran out of the bakery to the back lot as the rain poured, crying and she came after me crying also. My immature 16 year old self could only see my pain. I know now the anguish she felt on so many levels had to be agonizing. Grandma, I am so sorry. I am not sure I have ever asked for to be forgiven for my selfishness of that day.
When I returned from the service, I still struggled with my mother, but my grandmother loved me as much as ever, but I was not always in Sioux City to adequately express the love I should have. These are more examples of my taking her for granted. Well, I have spoken of this event in other posts, I will always regret not seeing her the last time I was in Sioux City the summer of 1977. In spite of my promise, I failed to stop by her house. When I got that phone call late in September that she had passed away, I was heartbroken. More significantly, I was ashamed and felt a profound guilt. I remember sobbing at her grave. My entire body shook as I tried to grasp the loss of my protector, of my hero. Only a few months before he had been there when I struggled with my brother’s death. She was only 64 years old. Now I look at that as so young.
Grandma, in spite of my failings, in spite of what is currently seeming as a step backwards, as I try to regroup and understand my path forward, I hope that you know how much I still love you, how much I still miss you. I hope that in some small way I have made you proud, and that I honor the amazing woman you are to me yet today. Thank you for everything you did to love me, to raise me, and to support me. I am so blessed.
To all, thank you for reading this tribute to my Grandmother Louise. If you have that person still here in your life, let them know how important they are.
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 