Evelyn Worden, a tribute

December 31^st, 2017

This is not the post I thought I’d be writing. My grandma passed away a few days ago, on December 28^th. We couldn’t make it to the hospital in time to say goodbye, but my dad and aunt were with her. I got to visit with her one last time before she passed, and even though it was difficult to see her in a weakened state, it is also one of my favorite visits with her. While my dad was going through physical therapy exercises with her, he asked her to wave to me. She searched the room for a couple of seconds before finding me, and her face lit up into that familiar, dimpled smile I know so well. She didn’t say anything—speaking was difficult—but she held my gaze and that smile for what felt like an eternity. It is the purest expression of love I’ve ever received, and will remain as a memory from which I draw strength.

My grandma was proud of me—she called me her “adventurous granddaughter”. But I am so incredibly proud to be her granddaughter. She was a woman of great strength and faith, filled with love, laughter, and music. It was rare to hear a disciplinary tone from her, yet she kept her grandchildren in line. All we needed was her sweet voice asking, “Do I hear happy voices?” to remind us to shape up.  She raised four children, eight grandchildren, and got to meet her first great-grandchild. She was diagnosed with Celiac’s disease in the 1960s, long before gluten free food was popular or understood. There was a time when rice cakes were the only grain-based food available to her, and she was still more than happy to let me eat from her stash. And she still cooked and baked treats for the rest of us, even though she could not partake.

She taught me to crack an egg on the edge of the counter, and subsequently that making mistakes is okay, as long as we clean up our mess. She taught me to live with a song in my heart and a smile on my face, to put others before myself, and to approach all things in life, but especially the difficult things, with grace, humor, and kindness. Without my realizing it, she showed me how to be a strong woman and a disciple of God. I wish I’d asked her more about her childhood and her life as a mother. I was so accustomed to others being the focus of her attention, I didn’t think to ask her until remembering was difficult.

But she fought to the end—we found little notes she’d take after phone calls, jotting down various news from family members, drafts of short letters she’d write until she got it right, and a couple of places where she wrote down reminders to herself: “I had a stroke on August 25, 2015. I moved to a new facility on October 6, 2015.” Those last ones broke my heart. I could see her grow frustrated at the new-found difficulty of completing tasks she used to do with ease. But she kept going and tried not to show it. She kept asking me about my work and my life, if I was happy with my choices. And I would tell her, honestly.

The last thing she said to me was “Thank you for sharing with me” after I showed her a video from Christmas Celtic. And I hugged her and said, “Anytime.” I miss her terribly, but I know she’s not really gone. She left a legacy of love that we’ll continue to pass down. And I’m sure she and my grandpa are holding hands while they smile down on all of us. I hope when we’re reunited they’re still proud of their adventurous granddaughter.

At cousin Ed & Holli's wedding, likely laughing at one of grandpa's jokes.