Make the Crooked Places Straight

     I don't remember when I first began to wish I had known my Grandparents better.  But I do know that by the time I realized how much I wanted to really love and know them, it was too late.  They were gone.  Some of that regret was beyond my control,  but not all of it.

     My paternal grandmother, Jessie Marie Pritt Smith, died of cancer before I was 2 years old.  As I grew up, I accepted that, but at some point realized that not getting to know and love her had left a hole in my heart that only she could fill.  Even now, I wish I could talk with her and discover what brought her joy. Maybe I could even sit with her and read from the Bible.   I would ask her to tell me stories about raising my Dad, and how she truly felt that Christmas Eve of 1941 when she learned he hadn't been killed at Pearl Harbor as the Navy Department had first notified them.

     I would love to just hear her voice.  To see her hands.  To hear her laugh.  As her first grandson, I would give anything to hear her tell me how cute I am.  I did experience all of those things, but the  memories of a 2 year-old are buried too deeply for the remembering I want to do.

     I wasn't insightful enough to ever ask my Dad about his parents.  I regret that.  Just recently, I asked my Mom about her memories of Grandma Jessie (even now, it seems strange to call her by that name since I can't remember her).  Mother remembers something that Grandma said shortly before her death, that I think is revealing.  As she came weakly down the stairs on one of her last mornings, she said to the family, "Stay together."   Including my Dad, she had 2 sons and 4 daughters, and she was obviously aware of how important her presence was.  

     Mother also told me something about my Dad that I had not known before.  At the funeral home, the family, of course,  was seated in the room where she lay.  But my Dad pulled up a chair and seated himself right next to her casket, where he remained for the entire service.

     Could he have been thinking of something she had written to him just 3 years before, as he served on a destroyer in the Pacific ?  She closed a letter to him, dated, January 16, 1945 and addressed  "Dearest Son":

         "All my love and prayers with you wherever you are.  Remember God is on the sea the same as on land.  Write and be careful.  Mother"

     She and my Grandpa had barely celebrated their Silver Anniversary when she lost her battle with colon cancer in January of 1948.  I was blessed to know Grandpa for a few years longer, but I was still too young when he died to love him like I could have if we had been given more time together.  He died suddenly, of a massive heart attack in January of 1957.    

     Since I was over 10 years old then, my memories of that day are much more vivid.  The phone rang and my Mom answered.  As she passed the phone to my Dad,( it seemed he never talked on the phone)  I immediately knew something was wrong.  It was my Uncle Red, bearing the burden of telling his older brother that their generous, loving father was gone.  I remember my Dad dropping the rotary phone receiver roughly into its cradle, standing up and saying, "Now they're both gone."   At some point I realized how telling that statement of grief was.  Nine years after his Mother had passed, he still missed her greatly.   After absorbing the reality of that phone call, my Dad then did something I had never seen him do before.  He wept.....  And I had my first experience with the death of someone I loved.

     Sometime in 1979, I had a vivid dream about Grandpa and it affected me so much that I awoke, in tears, and was inspired to write a poem describing the dream.  It was a difficult time in my life (that's why I remember the year).  I've written some poetry since, but never have I been amazed,  as I was then, at how readily the words flowed.   And now, 35 years later, I can still feel his presence as I felt it that morning.

                                                     Dad's Dad


Last night I dreamed about Grandpa Smith,
A man I wish I could have spent more time with.
Somehow, he wasn't any older---but I was,
So he talked man-to-man the way a Grandpa does.
We talked about things we couldn't before,
'Cause I needed to grow up and understand things more.
He told me his plans, his goals, and his dreams,
And made me realize life isn't always what it seems.
That in spite of problems, disappointments and defeats,
The true test of a man is how he handles what he meets.
I've always known he was a good, generous man,
But last night I knew as no other man can,
That Grandpa loved me, and in his own special way,
Came to me when I needed him and knew just what to say.
Then, reluctantly, he and I had to say our goodbyes,
And I awoke from my dream with tears in my eyes.
But I realize one thing though our parting was sad,
I'm still his oldest grandson, and his oldest son is still my Dad.



      When I was a boy, we visited both their graves often, usually on a Sunday afternoon, or on Memorial Day.  I have even returned as an adult a few times to where they were buried at the Sunset Cemetery near West Jefferson, Ohio.    The Bible tells us to honor our father and mother.   I've always felt part of honoring my parents is honoring their parents the best I could.  I just regret that I didn't always do it as well as I might have.  But God's grace covers my imperfect love.

     If your Grandparents are still living,  and if you haven't already, set aside something that can be done later and sow something of yourself in them.  Then, harvest some wisdom from them before the sun goes down on their lives.

     If they're not living,  discover what you can about them.  You may just find that they left you a legacy that will speak beyond the grave.  


     One of my favorite scriptures about the hope of the future is Isaiah 45:2, and I like the King James translation :

        "I will go before thee, and make the crooked places straight:  I will break in pieces the gates of brass, and cut in sunder the bars of iron."


     Not having a full, timeless relationship with Grandpa and Grandma Smith is a "crooked place"  that I pray God will make "straight" some day.

   
     The next time I write, I want to honor the memory of my Mom's folks, Granny and Grandaddy.