flesh and blood: part 3

GREAT GRANDMA

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When I was growing up, in addition to being at Grandma Loya’s a ton, I also spent a great amount of time at my Great Grandparent's house. Summer times I would spend all day there- I would lie in bed in the morning until my mom scared me into getting dressed and out the door we'd fly- we’d arrive at my grandparent's 8 minutes later and there would be a great big breakfast on the table and a day full of activities planned. Some days there were things I liked to do, other days were full of chores my Grandpa made me begrudgingly complete- weeding, watering, touching dirty things that made my little girl skin crawl. Yuck! My grandma would laugh when I threw fits and at snack time make me ‘duck soup’- coffee with milk and sugar. She let me eat cookies, Nutter Butters and Little Debbie treats and all kinds of things I should never have put in my mouth. She was so kind and sweet and loved me to pieces and the only times she got really mad at me I really deserved it.

Her and my grandpa did a lot for me- spending time with me, teaching me things, showing me things. When my age hit double digits I grew to take this sweet woman for granted. Regardless of all the pain she was suffering (which you will read about shortly), I would get annoyed at the ‘I love you’s, the phone calls to see how I was doing, her asking when I was going to come and visit her. Inside, my whiny inner voice was saying GRAAAAAAAANDMAAAAAA, just annoyed as it could be. Thank goodness I snapped out of that around age 20, and since then, my heart has never been bigger for her.

Although I love her to bits, there has really only ever been one time I’ve felt we really ‘connected.’ We were in the garage, years ago, going through some boxes, and we found a bunch of my Grandpa’s old ties. I wanted to make a skirt. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but I remember her being so excited about the idea, and really wanting to help, and feeling this spark with her I had never really felt before. I wanted it to last, but it was so new and different- seeing my Grandma as a ‘real person,’ not just an ‘old lady,’ I just didn’t know how to capture it, and make it last. I had all of these preconceived notions about what Great Grandmas should be like that it’s possible I never truly saw her for who she really was- wife, daughter, mother- not just Grandma Hicks.

I am honestly surprised she is still alive. I truly didn’t think she would be around when I graduated from college, and I’m even more astounded she’s still here today. She is a tiny, fragile little spitfire of a woman and the longer she lives the longer I’m convinced she’s going to live. Her mom, Great Great Gma Patterson, lived to be 101 ½. If that’s any indication of her life’s timeline, I’ve still got 12 years of snuggling her to look forward to.

In September of 1998 her husband, my great Grandpa LB, passed away from cancer. Lymphoma, to be exact. I was 12 years old then and seeing him terrified me. He battled, seemingly overcame, then slipped away again, and eventually for good. They moved him home for the last month or so of his life, and during that time I remember a lot of waiting, and a lot of watching, and a lot of worrying and sadness. His breathing scared me, it seemed like his whole chest was rattling with every exhale. I was frightened of getting too close, not because I was afraid I was going to catch his illness, but because it confused and hurt me to see him that way- so weak and sick. I wanted to remember the Grampa who made me walk around looking for night crawlers with him at midnight, and pick up wet leaves covered in bugs with my bare hands, and mixed up jelly, peanut butter, honey, butter and molasses to spread on his breakfast toast. That grandpa woke me up at 5am to go fishing all day long during summer days at Diamond Lake, and taught me the right way to trim a rose bush, and always had a pocketful of Werther’s Originals. He was strong and authoritative and I couldn’t comprehend him being the same man who was so tiny and frail and helpless he couldn’t even open his eyes, let alone feed or take himself to the bathroom. It was awful.

I remember the day he passed away. My bus came to a stop at its usual spot down the street from their house and I saw a white van parked out in front. I knew. And I couldn’t help being relieved. Not because I didn’t want him around, or was glad to see him go- I was devastated- but because it was really difficult for me to even know how to be around him. It was obvious he was suffering so much pain. What could I even do to help? Could he hear me when I talked to him? Did he know who I was? I kept my distance during those last few weeks, something I regret now (although I really try not to). I later learned before he died he managed to tell my Grandma how much he loved her, so I’m reassured all those times I told him hi, or I love you, or what I did in school that day, he did indeed hear, even if he wasn’t able to respond. His passing is the saddest thing that has ever happened in my life. Even now, 12 years later, I can still see him so clearly, or smell his Grampa smell sometimes, or hear his voice or laugh. I still cry about him every now and then. When I get scared of silly things I talk to him, or afraid my Gramma is close to dying, I always ask him to come and be close to her. I miss him terribly. I wonder where he is, and what he is doing, and if he sees me living like I like to imagine he does. Nothing could prepare me for the magnitude of his death, and his death couldn’t prepare me for the wife he would leave behind.

Grandma Hicks has always been a strong strong lady. She came from a family of 5 other siblings and worked her ass off in the early days- picking cotton in Oklahoma, canning seafood in Astoria- her and my Grandpa had a real hard life in the beginning, they were dirt poor and worked like dogs to lift themselves out of poverty. Eventually my Grandpa got in to real estate, and after that their financial worries were over. He made sure Grandma Hicks had everything she wanted- I never knew her to want too much, though. He assumed the masculine role of provider and did everything for her- he was kind of bossy. He wouldn’t even let her learn to drive, he wanted to take her everywhere. When he died this left her absolutely helpless. She had never paid a bill in her life, let alone learned how to deal with the flood of paperwork and responsibility left when he was gone. She had always relied on him for everything, and when he left us her world came crashing down.

There were crying fits, there was screaming out loud and the yelling of cuss words and WHY GOD WHYs for weeks. She would sit in his chair in the living room and bawl for hours. When I would hear her I would come out of my room and hug her quietly and let her weep. ‘I can’t take it Nichole, I just can’t take it.’ I know the loss I felt was absolutely nothing compared to what she was feeling. She married my Grampa when she was 14, and they were together 60 years. She had loved this man, depended on him, and built a life with him so intertwined that the only way she could explain him being taken was plain and simple- God hated her. And she hated God too, and she wasn’t shy about saying it.

I thought she would follow soon after. I’d heard all kinds of stories about old couples dying within days, weeks, months of each other- I was convinced she would go soon, too. Sometimes she would tell me he had come to visit her. I don’t know if they were dreams, or hallucinations born out of gut wrenching sorrow, but I never asked- I let her have that, and it was strangely comforting to me. What if he really does visit her, I wondered. Is he asking her to go with him? In a way, I wanted her to go with him. It was obvious there was nothing more in the world she wanted, and sometimes I got scared she might take matters in to her own hands- but she never did.

You know how sometimes someone loses someone, a friend, family member, a lover- and after all of the pain and sadness dulls down to a background hum that never really goes away, they get to a point where they can smile about the person? They might even let themselves learn to love again? My grandma never got to that point. She has never forgiven God. She has never accepted what happened. I used to see this as a sign of weakness. I used to think it unhealthy, damaging, you name it- and maybe it is. I used to think a 'strong' person picks up their life after a reasonable amount of time and looks forward- carries on. But of the many important things Grandma Hicks has taught me, a lesson in strength is one of them. I wish I could tell you what the lesson is, but I am still figuring it out.

What I do know: Is there any way I can truthfully say my great Grandma is a weak person? Ab. So. Lute. Ly. Not. Grandma Hicks is the strongest little lady I know. She has been living in loss and sadness, wallowing in it even, for years. And although I feel sorry for her, for this devastating thing that has happened, and for the way she can't let herself accept it, if it is what she clings to to see her through another day, so be it. I'm not sure how exactly, but she wants to see another day, and one after that, and another after that. I have never understood what keeps her going, knowing how badly she misses my grandpa. She has had so many ups and downs in the last few years in regards to her health that sometimes I can't even fathom how on earth she is still with us. She is so confused about her life (luckily not always the people in it) that she forgets where she is living now is where she lives. If we take her out for a drive, or to a doctor's appointment, she throws a fit when we bring her home and wants to know why we're abandoning her. It is HEARTBREAKING. 'I want to go home! I want to go home!' she says.

Home is where my Grandpa is. Maybe in her precious little mind home is back at their old house, but sometimes I think even more than that, she means wherever he is now. Sometimes she asks me if I've seen him recently, if I've talked to him, if he caught anything when he was out hunting. 'He was just visiting here a little bit ago,' she will tell me. I never, ever, ever correct her. I NEVER remind her he is dead. 'What did you guys talk about?' I ask. And she tells me.

This woman means the world to me. I want to take care of her. She changed my diapers when I was a baby, and now I've changed hers, too. I want to protect her. I want her to know I think about her every single day, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. For the longest time when she was still aware of what is going on in her day to day life I told myself I would interview her, about her childhood, her hopes and dreams, her life with my grandfather. I never did. So in a last chance effort to save what stories she barely remembers, I asked her some questions for this very last entry. The answers she gave me were a little scattered, and I could tell she didn't quite understand the questions, or why she was talking about these things in the first place, but I am so happy I finally took the time to actually write her these things down. It is so hard to see her now, and harder to leave her when it's time for me to do so. There have been plenty of times I've thought about leaving Portland to go back to Roseburg and be close to her. But then the rest of my family and I wonder- what if she lives for 15 more years? I need to make a life for myself, out here, somewhere. What about leaving all my friends? Surely I would hate to leave behind my friends, and my job, and these places I have come to love out here?

But really, when she is gone, these places will still be here. There will still be friends. But she will be gone. She will be long gone, in a casket next to my Grandpa, and will I wish I had been the one holding her hand as she passed away? Will I wonder if the caretakers by her side were loving, were compassionate, or if they moved about the whole thing methodically- like she was just another person, and not my sweet, sweet loving grandmother? Will I regret not being there to tell her how much I love her? Will that even matter, or is that just something the living bother thinking about? I wrestle with these thoughts so often. I think about all of the families who live apart- they seem to do just fine. Sometimes I think there must be something wrong with me to want to be near her so badly. I’ve never lived outside of Oregon, never lived abroad, because I’m afraid of being away from her. I’m afraid of getting a phone call that she’s died and not being able to come to the funeral. I’m afraid of finding out she’s sick and not being able to make it back to her in a flash. There is a big hole in the middle of my chest when I think about her, and it’s only full when I’m back in Roseburg, sitting around in her assisted living facility.

Everyone there says she hilarious, and she is. She is so full of spunk and sass you could almost pass out from all the laughter. I want everyone I know to meet her, she is such a sweet and spicy little thing and it just takes you by surprise when you first hear her mouth off. Insults, jokes, wit- she’s got it all and more, something that I sometimes forget. She may be confused about where she is, what time it is, and who you are, but she is almost always on point with that biting sense of humor.

That is one thing I’ll remember her for. That, and how she always wanted to take care of everyone. She was always looking out for everyone else, often times forgetting about herself in the mean time. Her selflessness was amazing. I can’t even imagine what my life will be like without her. I love this old woman to pieces. You should probably love your grandparents too, even if they are sometimes mean or bitter or bossy or racist (Gpa Hicks!). When they are gone, you might wish you’d have told them how much they meant, so if you’d like to tell them, please do- before it’s too late!

 

STATS

FULL NAME: Sarah Virginia Hicks

HOMETOWN: Carnegie, OK

SLEEPS: at Callahan Court Assisted Living

FAVORITE FOOD: fried potatoes

TELL US ABOUT A FAVORITE CHILDHOOD MEMORY.

I lived with all my family in Oklahoma.... mom and dad, and all of us kids. There were 8 of us lived in that house. Six kids... mom had six of us idiots (she giggles).

WHAT WAS A FAVORITE THING YOU GUYS DID?

I guess my favorite thing was... was we eat ice cream. Homemade ice cream. In the freezer. And that's my favorite. And besides that I like chicken, fried chicken. I LOVE fried chicken. And I like fried potatoes.

WHAT WAS  YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ICE CREAM?

Oh, vanilla. In an ice cream freezer. You put ice in it, and you stir it. It had a crank on it.

WHICH DO YOU LIKE MORE: ROSES OR PETUNIAS?

If I told the truth it would be dahlias. In the courtyard downstairs there are a lot of flowers and you can sit.

ANYTHING YOU CAN TELL US ABOUT CULTIVATING A LONG, HAPPY RELATIONSHIP?

Just get along when you get married. And make sure he's the right one. If you do that you'll never have a bad time.

HOW DO YOU KNOW HE'S THE RIGHT ONE?

Well, you have to love him a lot, if you live with him. I can't remember a time when I didn't love Grandpa. And I sure do miss him.

WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST JOB?

Picking cotton. You had a great big sack around your neck and you pulled it a long. We took it to the scales and the weighmaster weighed it. And that was about it. We were very poor. Daddy took us kids... and we went and chopped cotton. Mama liked to pick. And we sang. A lot.

WHAT KINDS OF SONGS DID YOU SING?

Church songs. We had a church magazine. We were always singing. We couldn't go anywhere if we weren't singing, daddy always had us singing. Daddy liked to sing- I sang alto. A-l-t-o. And grandma sang alto. And daddy sang tenor. Mom had a great big old organ.

ANY ADVICE FOR PEOPLE MY AGE?

No, not really. I've always had a good life. I've always been a good person. The main thing: like what you do.

SOMETHING YOU WOULD LIKE TO DO THAT YOU HAVEN'T DONE IN A WHILE- OR EVER?

Go home. 

Sometimes I feel like myself and the women in my family make up a bull's eye. Grandma Hicks is the dot in the very middle, the most important part. Next is my Gma Loya, then my mom, and I'm on the outside. In a way each of us becomes a bigger part of those who came before us. Grandma Hicks is the center of my universe. Love love love love love.

<3