It seemed so sudden when my grandparents decided to move from their beloved farm in Arkansas back to Houston, Texas. I knew how happy they had been with their animals and their gardens, but I also remembered how much work maintaining their place had been. The two of them were in their late eighties and beginning to slow down. Perhaps being back near family in a house with a smaller yard would be best for both of them. Besides, having them close would mean that I would get to see them more often. 

We almost immediately began visiting my grandparents every Sunday after church. Grandma prepared her famous feasts for lunch, but somehow her cooking was not as incredible as it had once been. She was having difficulty with her eyes and we would often find foreign objects in the dishes that she served. Our mother instructed us to begin with small portions so that if we decided that a particular dish was not up to Grandma’s standards it would be less noticeable if we left that food on the plate. It was sad to realize that our once energetic grandmother was slowing down and had lost much of her culinary magic. 

On most visits we accompanied Grandma on a tour of her backyard garden which did not seem to have suffered the way her cooking had. Her thumb was as green as ever so it was delightful to view the flowers and vegetables that grew in profusion in beds along the perimeter of the property. She was always so delighted by nature’s bounty that it made all of us smile. 

For a time Grandpa went back to work. He told us that he needed to stay busy, so he had landed a job at NASA through his connections with the union to which he had belonged for years. He helped install the rings for lighting on the ceilings of new buildings that were constantly cropping up at the space center. He looked and behaved much younger than his octogenarian age, but one day an inspector saw him perched high on a ladder and felt that something was amiss. When the man quizzed Grandpa about his age and learned how old he was, he immediately insisted that my grandfather leave the job. 

What we did not know at the time is that Grandma had colon cancer that had advanced so much that it was incurable. This was a time before Medicare for seniors existed so Grandpa had been drawing on his savings to care for her. He needed that job both for the income and the health insurance that it had provided. It was devastatingly horrible to later learn that my grandmother’s treatments were stressing the finances of my grandparents. 

It was not long before Grandma’s illness became apparent. She stopped cooking her big meals for us and when we visited we mostly sat on the couch watching television with our grandparents. Grandma told us that her favorite show was The Beverly Hillbillies. She’d laugh and explain that she identified with the “Granny” character on the series. 

Eventually Grandma spent time in the hospital where she underwent surgery that resulted in a colonoscopy. She was frail and mostly bed bound by then. We would sit with her as she slipped in and out of consciousness. The whole situation horrified me but I watched my mother behaving like an angel of mercy. Mama had so much strength and goodness in her heart that I was in awe of her. I mostly sat quietly in the room wishing that the grandmother I had always known might somehow become well again, but that was not meant to be. 

One day in October of 1964, my beloved grandmother, Minnie Bell Smith Little, died in her home. I was devastated as was anyone who knew her. Grandpa had tried so hard to restore her health, but in the end there was little he was able to do. His “buddy” was gone, the love of his life and he would talk of her constantly and the joys that the two of them had shared. 

After Grandma’s funeral Grandpa revealed that he would have to vacate the house where Grandma had ended her days. His bank account was depleted from the cost of her medical care. He liquidated all that he owned and moved to a room in his daughter Marion’s home. When that did not work out as planned he found a rented room with a sweet woman named Maryann Barbeaux, a widow who needed the extra income to stay afloat. His world was shattered and so was ours. Grandma had been the glue of the family and without her we all felt adrift. 

I would return to my books and my studying for solace, a pattern that I would repeat over and over again during my life. I don’t recall much about that school year because I suppose I was shrouded in grief without really understanding the process of working through the phases of loss. When I turned sixteen shortly after my grandmother’s death I felt inspired to emulate her goodness and the joy for living that she had so exuded. I also wanted to be like my mother who had shown me how to so lovingly care for the sick and the dying. I knew that I had a great deal of growing up to do before I would even come close to being like the two remarkable women who were my exemplars. Little did I know how close I would eventually become with my grandfather and how he would be a source of comfort and wisdom for many more years to come. The passing of time had made me strong, and Grandpa would show me how to navigate the difficult surprises that always come our way.