Nobody Reads This Page – "Grandma’s Example"

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

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(8-25)

 

 

“Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, of any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others. On your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death – even death on a cross!” Philippians 2:1-8 (NIV)

 

I have often written about the example provided by my maternal grandmother, who lived with us at different periods in her life, after becoming a widow. Her presence in our household had a great influence on my own path, both in terms of intellectual and spiritual development, but also as a fledgling writer. She was a rural entrepreneur and a family matron, yet incredibly humble in every way. Her selfless approach to living inspired me as a child, and has remained meaningful, ever after. Her sense of rhythm and cadence in poetic verse sparked an interest in following that lead into creative work of my own. I owe her a debt that can only be repaid by staying active, with my pen.

 

That journey continues, even today.

 

Recently however, I pondered that the baseline she set for us was now being reflected in one of my siblings, instead of wordsmithing charted in ink. During a quiet celebration for my sister and brother-in-law, upon the 40^th anniversary of their wedding day, I lingered in a murky sense of irony and detachment. She had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which her oncologist said was on the march throughout her body. And her husband was lost in the twilight of senile dementia. An affliction we had already seen overtake my late mother. These challenges muted our joy with a sense that reality is often a cruel taskmaster.

 

My kindred counterpart was no longer the robust, cheerful figure that I had come to take for granted, over the years. Her stance was stooped, and her gait was slow and ponderous. She looked oddly frail and weathered, gaunt in the face, but with limbs swollen for some reason. I could detect that participating in our minimalist gathering was a chore she endured out of loyalty. A moment of togetherness much needed for all of the brood, but one that left her feeling fatigued.

 

Yet as I sat sharing conversations across the room, in a round-robin exchange of news and notes, and polite nonsense, my kindred opposite reached beside her lift chair, for a package. It appeared to be from an online vendor such as Amazon, Walmart, or another purveyor of various goods. She ripped open the bag with some effort, rummaged through the resulting mess, and produced a bottled condiment which carried the image of a character from a Canadian television program. One that I followed as a fan.

 

“Coney Island Saucery Presents – Trailer Park Boys, Ricky’s Smokes Let’s Go Hot Sauce. A smoke forward hot sauce featuring infused hemp hearts, bright middle tones, and a warm lasting scotch bonnet heat.”

 

Before my career as a salaried, retail manager had ended, I often thought that actor Robb Wells and I looked enough alike that we might have been distant cousins. Though my modern appearance had evolved into something more akin to what most people would associate with dwelling in a cave.

 

I was caught by surprise when receiving this small gesture. Because of course, it was her day to shine, not my own. And also, because of the dark undertones that permeated our pizza fest. The moment still glowed with importance and cheer. Yet a cold crispness hung in the air. A realization that mortality would visit our genetic group, just as it has done since the beginning of time itself. On a schedule set by circumstance, rather than logic or reason.

 

I was moved to reflect on the lessons of Grandma McCray, and how losing her when I was only a youthful spud of eleven years, seemed indefensible and wrong. Now, my grandnephew was predestined to suffer a similar indignity. One charted by fate or perhaps, the celestial omnipotence of a higher being. For some in our bunch, there was cause to wonder about the goodness of that supreme force, and how such events were arranged in the cosmic timeline. But for my closest relative, in terms of chronology, no doubt over Bible truths had been aroused. She remained steadfast in her faith. Wholly grounded in the belief that love is eternal, because it is a reflection of the gift given by our creator, in terms of salvation and an eternal reward.

 

Just as in the familiar, scriptural story of crucifixion and finality, my sister had mustered a sort of courage that made her bedrock philosophy even stronger than before. One of sacrifice and service. Of truly placing the well-being of her husband, siblings, children, grandchild, neighbors, fellow parishioners, and associates, above herself. Even at a time when many would speculate that a gray mood of self-interest might be warranted. Perhaps, even desirable as a sort of defense mechanism when witnessing the prospective end of days, approaching.

 

I had been somewhat overwhelmed with our emotional interaction, particularly because of my own bent toward staying isolated, and busy at the desk. So, I did not properly react at first to the bottle of pepper extract. I placed it in a pocket door of my refrigerator. Possibly with the notion of sampling it on tacos or fried potatoes, or some random, home-cooked feast.

 

But then, weeks later, I woke at an early hour before sunrise, with the meaning clear and present in my head. This venerable, queen fowl of our gaggle had thought of me instead of herself, even at a moment so dire and deeply distressing. The expression I felt was one of kinship, and kindness. As stated in those hallowed pages of yore, ‘becoming obedient... to death.’ But with an unflagging zest for living, and for sharing the familial bond that had always made our connection so meaningful, and enduring. My beloved sister, now a grandmother in her own right, had manifested the same love I saw as a wide-eyed kid, in central Virginia. It represented an achievement worthy of praise.

 

It gave me assurance that somewhere beyond the golden gates of eternity, Lulu McCray would be proud, and pleased.