Grandma's Euology

I lost one of the most treasured people in my life this past fall. Grandma Bessie, as she was known to just about everyone, was 93 - almost 94 - when she passed away this last September. I had the honor of trying to speak at her funeral service, which was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. She lived with us from the time I was 8 years old. She was my great Grandma, and was she ever "great"... Looking back after a few months, I can see how even in her death, she worked magic in the souls of her family.

Who was Grandma Bessie?

In the early days, she was a care giver: she would leave snacks for after school-homemade pudding in fancy glass bowls or snickers candy bars cut perfectly into portions; then, as we grew older, she would smuggle laundry for certain teenage girls who were supposed todo their own; next, she became daycare provider to our children, and began entertaining a whole other generation with her stories and humor.

She was a teacher; she taught us about history-her history and our own. Most people here have heard her stories of what school lunches were like during the depression, how sleigh rides took them to school in the really bad snow, how to get home from school after the teacher locks you in and leaves you, and how kids really did walk miles to school up hill, in the sun, rain and snow.

We learned about the games they played on the farm, the chores they had, and the family that shared it all. We heard fishing stories, pool hall and gas station stories, as well as war stories, like the time she helped smuggle a puppy to a young German prisoner of war for his birthday. There was the dog wit rabies, the wife with the frying pan, and the big strong husband who had to have his wife gut a deer for him.

She was fun with a great sense of humor. She told jokes, made faces, taught us covered wagon and card games, and played practical jokes - ask the son-in-law who was trapped in the chicken coop... She loved to play canasta, and claimed she never cheated. She was always up for games or adventure.

She was strong - she may have been little and generally quiet - but she was a force to be reckoned with if you crossed her family. Just ask the boyfriend who saw the wrong side of the broom, the grandson who was too stubborn to go to the doctor, or the husband who had one too many drinks.

She was a model of Faith. She faced tragedy, and buried not only her parents and her husband, but her daughter and then her grandchildren, yet she had contant Faith through it all. She rarely had a bad word to say, and when she did you know you deserved it.

She had more stories and life experience than any of us could imagine. She lived through the horse-and-buggy and depression era, working day after day on thefarm. She witnessed the emergence of the car and ran a gas station. She worked in a facotry. She was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and even a great, and great-great grandmother. She was a source of inspiration for us all. People think that we took care of her, but she was the one who took care of us all these years. When I consider all the role models one could have, I would choose none other than her.

Peace

One of my really good friends just lost her sister, Theresa, unexpectedly, and as I was talking with her afterwards, the way her sister left our world and passed into the next was amazing. The strength and peace that she had facing death was nothing short of extraordinary. It made me smile and cry hearing just the few stories that I've heard so far. Theresa's unselfish, caring ways that made her more worried about the strength and faith of her loved ones who had to let her go over her own departure. Her ability to continue to pray for others and worry how others would be.


I have never heard of such peace and acceptance when facing death. No regrets for things left unfinished, no worries about the "hereafter", just pure acceptance that her fate was planned by God and that he was waiting to lead her home. I can only pray that the same peace would be there for everyone, that everyone could have the faith that she displayed. I know it made me take a second look at my faith and my displays of faith. It made me look at my life and my loved ones and wonder if anyone around me could be capable of the faith that she had.


I came home, and re-read the poem that I've had in my Bible since I first lost someone close to me. It's a poem that I received decades ago at a funeral and I've read it a million times since then. I've shared it with so many people that have lost someone they loved, but I've never thought it applied so much to the person I was reading it for than this time. I wish I knew who the author was...

I'M FREE...

Don't grieve for me for now I'm free,

I followed the path God laid for me.

I took his hand when I heard him call,

I turned my back and left it all.

I should not stay another day

To laugh, to love, to work or play.

Tasks left undone must stay that way,

I've found my Peace at the close of day.

If my parting has left a void

Then fill it with remembered joy.

A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,

Ah yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with time of sorrow,

I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.

My life's been full, I've savored much,

Good friends, good times, a loved ones touch.

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief,

Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.

Lift up your heart and share with me,

God wanted me now, he set me free.

Grandpa's Memories

We all know him as Daddy, Grandpa, Pops, Papa and Friend. He had 85 years of family and friends, and he spent his time making more memories than I could ever try to capture on paper. His one daughter spent three hours trying to write down all her memories, and even then, I’m sure she’ll think of memories in the days and weeks and years to come that she didn’t think of in those three hours. We could all sit around a fire pit for hours on end and talk about all the memories we share. They are good memories; some may be sad, some may be humorous, and some are just good heartfelt memories that help us remember who Donald Hill was.

Donald Francis Hill was a son, a brother, a friend, a dad, and a grandfather. He served his country well in WWII as a service member of the US Navy. He also served his community with almost 15 years of service on the Kalamazoo County and Barry County Sheriff’s Departments; he served his family well by using that position on the sheriff’s department to escort a daughter to the hospital with a cut up hand, and giving his wife a ticket, even though she may have been determined that she didn’t quite deserve it, but there was no sweet talking out of that one. He was a farmer, and he was a trucker, and he would take turns taking his children with him for a week or more at a time on the road. He helped his daughter conquer her fear of never driving again, after crashing the same car twice in a row, by making her get in and drive when she was too afraid to do it. He also enlisted the help of his son to cover up the fact when he crashed his own car, so his wife wouldn’t know.

He loved summertime, boating and fishing on the lake, and teaching his kids, grandkids and friends of them all to ski and fish. He would take them fishing and then head to the Circle Inn for breakfast with all the syrup you wanted. Gramps didn’t care if you had a plate of syrup, he’d let you have more. Grandpa also didn’t care if you wanted to fish, but didn’t want to bait your own hook, he’d do it for you. He loved to cook out for the houseful of friends and family that were always there at his house on Gun Lake. He’d stand by the grill with his drink and cigar, or what little nub of the cigar was left, and grill those pork ribs, brats, burgers, or even the teeny tiny one bite fish that his grandson would spend the day catching, and that grandpa would patiently scale and clean. He would take us all out to the island on the pontoon boat, which was loaded to the max with kids, grandkids and the dogs. Spending an entire day at the island and then parking the boat on the lake to watch fireworks on the 4th of July.

He was a good man, who once drove 200 miles for a daughter and his son-in-law, just to build special steps to make getting into the house easier. He once drove, for what seemed like hours, around San Diego on Christmas day with me and my newly enlisted USMC husband just to find a place that was open to make sure we had a Christmas dinner with family. He was a father and grandfather who was always there for his family, he would listen and be there for you, and he accepted us all for who we are. He spoiled his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There was always plenty of chocolate and candy to be shared by grandpa. Even after he had his stroke, he still helped his great-grandson learn how to walk with him and his walker, and then he taught him how to drive the scooter. He loved to garden, and once he was beyond being able to do the gardening himself, he still loved to supervise and make sure it was done the correct way. He loved his dogs. Buttons, Freckles, Missy, Sammy and Socks, the dogs travelled with him wherever he went. And, he loved to travel. He and Grandma Josie would take their RV and head to their next destination, whether it was off to see his daughter Marrian, or just to Whiskey Creek campground in Michigan near his family.

He was a lot of things to a lot of people. He had special memories that he shared with everyone of us. And, he had a good full life. The best memory is a general one and how I choose to remember him, as being full of fun and laughter, and sharing that laughter with all the people in his life, and with a smile on his face. We love you Grandpa, Daddy, Papa… We will see you again one day.