Carol Deane Jeffrey: January 29, 1924 - October 24, 2007

Two Wednesdays ago, on October 24, my Grandma Jeffrey woke up early, as she always did. She made a pot of oatmeal for breakfast, as she did most mornings, and then she accompanied my grandfather, her husband of 61 years, to Fitness over Fifty. Afterwards, they delivered Meals On Wheels together. They valued their independence so much that they felt deeply for those who didn't have it. This was just one of the ways that they gave back.

At home in the early afternoon, they raked leaves on their large, sloping lawn. The vibrant colors in one of the leaves caught my grandmother’s eye, and she twirled it in her fingers and slipped it inside my grandfather’s breast pocket. She must have chuckled as she did so, the soft, throaty laugh that everyone around her knew so well.

An hour later, upon walking into the downstairs level of the home where she had lived for more than five decades, she placed her foot on the stairs and immediately fell backwards.

Gone.

Her heart stopped beating in the middle of a clear fall day. A day spent going and doing and laughing. Just the way she would have wanted it.

Only too soon.

What can I say about her that doesn’t sound trite? She had eight children, twenty-nine grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren. She loved us fiercely. Nothing made her happier than to get us all together and take pictures of us. Her photos filled albums and envelopes and frames, crowding her refrigerator with faces and expressions. She always wanted one more shot.

She cooked vegetables until they turned grey, baked turkey until it became the texture of sawdust, made gravy out of a packet, but her table was full of stories and jokes and gentle teasing. She loved to travel. She loved to read. She saved absolutely everything, from rubber bands to aprons. Her closets were full to bursting with clothes and Reader’s Digests and newspaper clippings from every decade.

To see her smile, you might have thought that she lived a charmed life, but it wasn't always so. She grew up in a tense domestic landscape, with a father prone to fits of rage. Her only sibling, a brother, took his own life. Decades later, the incident was still so painful that she could scarcely speak about it.

When she and my grandfather found each other, in the early 1940's, they fell swiftly and deeply in love, and they held on tight. Their relationship was one of quiet devotion and shared joy. During sixty-one years together, they rarely spent the night apart. At family gatherings, or at church, or at any of the many events they attended, they always sat close to each other, chuckling over shared jokes.

On that Wednesday, my grandfather's heart broke. "I've lost my angel," he kept saying, over and over.

She was vibrant and twinkly and special.

Mostly, she was ours.

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The things you discover after someone is gone:

My grandfather never liked oatmeal. All those years, all those breakfasts together, he ate it without complaint.

“I prefer cold cereal,” he says now. We are trying to soak him up, to memorize his gentle Texas drawl, to notice the way he moves his hands, trying to appreciate him even more than we already do, feeling her presence through him. Knowing that even if we have him for another ten years, or twenty, it won’t seem like nearly long enough.

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My last conversation with her:

Three weeks before she died, I called my Grandma to say hello. It was a Friday evening, and I called around 6, thinking that I didn't want to call too late, in case they were going to bed early. But when she answered the phone, she was cheerful and bright, and I could hear noise in the background.

"Some of your cousins are here," she said. "As soon as we finish dinner, we'll get ready and go to the football game!" She and my grandfather were lifelong Oregon State fans; they'd be rooting for the orange and brown on the field that night.

"Grandma," I told her, "you're having a more exciting Friday night than I am!"

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How do we let go of those whom we love? How do we step out of grief’s shadow and back into life?

I honestly don't know.

Loss has bruised my heart in recent weeks. I haven’t yet learned to let go gracefully.

I imagine that if my grandma was here, sitting with me and talking about loss, that she might cry with me, and then say: “It just takes time.”

And so it does.

Comments

[alison]

I an so very sorry for you loss Jennifer. Your grandmother sounds like a very special woman - what wonderful memories and a lovely tribute.

[Stefania/CityMama]

I'm so sorry sorry for your loss. Your words are a beautiful testament to her life. Please keep writing about her.

[cookiecrumb]

My heartfelt condolences, Jennifer.

[brett]

Oh, Jennifer, that's honestly one of the most moving tributes I've ever read. Your grandmother certainly squeezed every last drop out of her time on earth. What an inspiration to us all! Clearly your grandmother's verve and spark inspired your beautiful tribute.

[Tiffany]

Jennifer, I'm so sorry for your loss. She sounds like such an amazing woman. Thanks for sharing her with all of us. This was a treat to read.

Take care.

[jen's mom]

What a beautiful tribute to your grandmother, Jennifer.

"Gram" "Grammy" "Nana" "Grandma" whatever we call them-- they give us unconditional love. That's why I still talk to my Nana after thirty years. Keep talking to her and listen.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

[Tana]

Ah, me. The older we get, the more dead people we know. The sad thing is when a jewel like your Carol Deane Jeffrey is lost.

My Memaw (Southern term, boiled the hell out of every vegetable, too. I remember being at the grown-up's table, and saying to Memaw, "I love your rice"...(appreciative murmuring from grown-ups there)..."It's so nice and sticky!"

I always think the prize in loving someone is loving. To know love, and recognize it, is EVERYTHING. To have basked in the sun of unconditional love is a vitamin that cannot be bought or replenished.

Sending love from here to there, Ms. Beautiful.

Remember your capacity to love. That will see you through.

[Tea]

Oh, my dear. What loss, what beauty, what sorrow, what love. My thoughts are with you!

[Mavis]

What a breath taking tribute to your Grandma. Whether it happens too soon, or is a slow decline it is so hard to lose such a special person. My heart goes out to you, your family, especially to your Grandfather. I love his admission about the oatmeal. Now that is a sign of love.

I lost my Grandmother two years ago on Valentine's day. She raised me for a number of years and was like a second mom. There are very few days that go by that I don't think of her. But it does heal with time and everyone's amount of time is different. Do what is right for you.

[shuna fish lydon]

I am thinking of you. Indeed, lovely memorializing words about an incredible woman.

My own experience with grief says this: pull it close and let it wash over/ through you. It's a powerful force, one which only grows barbed with desired escape.

Do wonderful self-caring things for you, Ms. Jennifer.

[Dolores]

A wonderful tribute to your grandmother. Thank you for sharing a piece of her here, so that we might all know a little of her. You and your family are in my thoughts; I hope you are able to find peace in her memory and in her honor.

[Robyn]

I'm so sorry, Jennifer. Thinking of you, and wishing I knew your grandmother, this evening.

[Jennifer]

Oh, Jennifer, I'm so sorry to hear about your grandma. I am losing my grammy bit by bit, day by day to Alzheimer's, and know that terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach that won't go away. My thoughts are with you.

[Jaden]

Honey, I wish I was close by to give you a big hug.

My Grandmother passed away when I was young. But I know she watches over me, esp in the kitchen. Po-Po loved to cook and loved to eat.

[barbara]

I'm so sorry to read about your grandmother. What a wonderful last day she had. Hugs from me to you and your grandpa.

[Jennifer Jeffrey]

Everyone - thanks so much for your kind words. They mean more than you know. My grandfather is still pretty devastated, but that is to be expected. We have a lot of wonderful memories to help get us through.

xox - Jennifer

[Anita]

There's never a good time to lose someone you love, but your grandma's last day sounds lovely.

I wish I had some wise words for you, but the only ones I have, you already know: It just takes time. And it does get easier, mostly.

You and your family are in our thoughts.

[Amy Sherman]

What a beautiful post. So sorry for your loss. Don't ever let go of the wonderful memories you have of her.

[susanna]

Oh my gosh, Jennifer, I'm so sorry. I'm tearing up right here at my computer reading your beautiful post about your grandma. She sounds like such a lovely soul and how lucky were they - your grandma and grandpa - to find one another and be with one another for so many happy years.

She would have loved reading your post about her. And, you know, you do resemble her.

[Kerry Petersen]

Sheryl and I love you Jennifer. Please do call us anytime, or come by to see us one of these days.

Kerry