It’s funny how one thing can lead to another…

A few weeks ago, Iowa was hit by a severe windstorm, they called it a derecho. It wasn’t as bad here in Washington County as it was in other areas but it left its mark. Outside furniture was treated like kindling and flew across our patio, trees bowed to the wind and standing near windows seemed dangerous. The daunting clouds came fast, blanketing our town in darkness. Within a few minutes the storm left and sunlight was restored leaving an aftermath of minimal destruction in its path.

A couple days later Dave was “stocking Miracle Whip” (that’s what he always says when anyone asks what he does for a living) and Grandma Wellington came in and asked if he could come over and trim a few branches that the storm left hanging limply in her trees. That night he remembered to load up his chainsaw and he stopped on his way home from work the following day. When he got there the task was easy and the branches were cleared away.  

Grandma is 87 years old. She lives in the home her and Grandpa bought in 1965. It is a giant four-square home complete with a front porch, chandeliers, tall ceilings and beautiful detail-oriented woodwork. In 1974 they actually moved the house from a main street in town to it’s current location.

Grandpa passed in 2008 and Grandma is perfectly content staying in this over large home for one. I can’t say that I blame her, it would be tough leaving a place where so much of her life happened. Besides, all the maintenance and stair climbing help keep her young, as long as she knows her limitations.

There is however maintenance she can’t do on her own and one big project she’s had on a back burner came to mind that day Dave stopped over. The paint on the house was showing its weathered age and chips were flaking off. They discussed it, standing outside looking at the house were so many of my fondest childhood memories occurred. Dave mentioned it to me when he got home and changed. We were sitting on the porch in our rocking chairs with iced tea close at hand. We weighed her options and knew we needed to find the most economical way for the job to get done. 

By the time Sunday dinner arrived with the kids and Grandparents we had a plan. After our meal, clean up, cards and dessert, we started a list of supplies and the steps we’d need to take to tackle the job. 

Fast forward a couple weeks later; paint was ordered, supplies picked up, and a lift was rented (May God Bless our old 2003 Trail Blazer that hauled the lift, talk about a family heirloom that’s showing her age) 

Tuesday broke bright and beautiful. Dave got to work power washing the house after giving Grandma and I the window measurements for one side. He wanted to cover the glass so the job could be done with a paint sprayer.  I grabbed the giant roll of heavy duty paper and with the map Grandma and I went inside to measure and cut.

Stepping into the house for me was like stepping back in time. It’s amazing how a house can secure our memories, has a scent that is uniquely its own and makes us nostalgic; in this houses’ case, it was in a good way.

I spent my senior year living here. The night before my wedding I slept in the parlor with all my bridesmaids. I know the creaky step going up the stairs. I know there’s a pencil sharpener like those in a classroom screwed to the wall in the kitchen closet. I know where Grandma has a drawer full of black and white family photos.

I came into this family in 1977, I was three. I am not a blood relative but have always been treated as one.

Back to the task at hand.

With the map and measurements Grandma and I decided the dining table was best suited for our work station. We cleared off her magazines and books, some small crafts she’s made, odds and ends, pens and pictures and put it all into a box. I had never seen the table so small. Growing up it was always rectangle shaped and at Christmas it filled the room with all the leaves added to it. Being just her, the table was small and square. I grabbed a couple of the leaves that were tucked beside the stand up freezer and soon the table matched that of my memory.

We started on the east side windows and as we found a rhythm we talked. We talked about her meeting Grandpa and their first date at the drive in. About their wedding at the small country church she still attends as one of eleven worshipers. We talked about her pregnancies and the age difference between her children. We had the most productive time spent cutting paper and her filling my mind with days gone by.

After lunch we cut some more and even caught up enough to sit down for a break. It was then that one of the most profound things was told to me.

You see for years I kept a secret. A secret I had learned I couldn’t share. When Grandma and I talked about it she told me how thankful she is that it didn’t come out when the abuse was happening to me.

She calmly sat there in a recliner across from me while I sat on the world’s longest sofa with my feet pulled up beside me. She looked me in the eyes and said, “if your Grandpa had known what was happening to you at the time it would have been really bad. He would have probably gotten in trouble because he wouldn’t of been able to control his anger.”

Now it was my turn to control my emotions, at that moment it was difficult. To realize that someone would have defended me and tried to protect me was more than I could have imagined. You see, I had told someone the truth when it was happening, an adult who should have done something but because she didn’t, I kept my silence for years to come.

Dave had been working on the side of the house where we were sitting and as it so often happens, we were granted a reprieve from the heavy discussion. The noise of the power washer ceased, signaling he either needed to readjust the lift or move it all together. Grandma and I made our way outside to see which. We got more measurements and did our best to help him reattach the lift and move it to the front of the house.

When we came back in and set to work on the next set of windows, we worked in a comfortable silence, focusing on the task at hand and with the thoughts of our discussion playing in both our heads. 

Eventually, Grandma and I cut our last paper,  she labeled it and rolled the north side window coverings together. We secured them with a rubber band and put them with the other three sides. We then went outside to check on the progress and found Dave winding up the hose and getting ready to hook the lift back up to the old blazer. The days work was finished with the sunlight fading fast. We said our goodbyes and climbed into separate vehicles.

At a snails pace I followed Dave to the rental store to return the lift. I didn’t mind. I turned off the radio, rolled down the window and allowed the peace and quiet to fill the space. I thought about where I’ve been, what I’ve been through and about the Grandparents that adopted me as one of their own. 

When we got home Dave was soaking from head to toe. He shed his old shoes on the back rug and walked through the house to our room. I was just steps behind him. I had picked up his shoes and removed the insoles, placing the wet, thin pieces on the counter in the laundry room to dry. Then I removed my own shoes and put them away and caught up with him in our bathroom. He had turned on the shower and was attempting to peel off his wet clothes. They came off inside out. He walked into the shower and I grabbed him a fresh towel from under the sink and hung it on the hook outside the walk in shower. I gathered his wet clothes and took them to the laundry room. 

My mind was full and my stomach a little empty. I decided to fix us a quick, easy snack that we ate at the breakfast bar when Dave came back out. He checked his emails and made sure to reply to all the things he’d missed earlier. I threw out our paper plates, and rolled up the bag of chips. I put our glasses in the sink to wash the next day and turned off the lights. It was earlier then our normal bedtime but we were tired and I followed Dave back into our bedroom where he crawled between the sheets and fell promptly asleep.

It was my turn for a shower. I popped in the hot, steamy water and felt it run down my face, mixing with the emotional tears I couldn’t stop from falling. It had been a good day and parts of it were unexpected gifts. After I’d lathered my hair and rinsed, I washed my face, then I turned off the faucet and dried off. By the time I slipped under the covers Dave was sound asleep, breathing in slow deep breaths.

I laid there on my side and watched him. He was facing me on his side. I can see how time has aged him; how his hair is more silver than the dark brown it once was, the creases are deeper around his eyes and the sun spots more rough on his forehead. I trace the outer edge of his ear to his soft earlobe then pulled the covers up around his shoulders. I think about all he does for our family, for his parents and for my Grandma. I am thankful for his go get it spirit. 

I turned over and laid on my back in the dark. My thoughts turning to all the places we’ve been.

As a “Miracle Whip stocker” we moved when the company asked us. Dave’s job took us far from Washington. We started our journey in 1993 and it took us to five towns. When the opportunity arrived to return to Washington, it required thoughtful prayer.

I knew it would be difficult moving back to the town that held more pain for me then joy, at least at that time. We kept praying. Our prayers were answered and we moved back in 2007. I had to trust the answer to our prayer.

Shortly after our return Grandpa Wellington got sick. By the grace of God I was given the gift of time to spend with both of them. I’d get all the kids off to school and drive across town to pick up Grandma and Grandpa in the like new trailblazer. Grandpa rode up front with me and Grandma buckled up in the back. We went to doctor’s appointments in Iowa City, I helped Grandpa into wheelchairs and was treated to lunch before we made our way back home.

Grandpa Wellington was a strong, silent man with a gentle soul. He served his country in the Korean War, something he didn’t like to talk about. He smoked a pipe, loved nature and deer hunting. He sat at the head of the table for big family dinners and loved, loved, loved babies. Grandpa Wellington also loved me. 

In December of 2008, Grandpa was in the local hospital, small and weak. Grandma and I played cards and Yahtzee sitting on the window bench in his room while he slept. One night, when I absolutely couldn’t stay any longer or I’d be late for our oldest’s basketball game, I leaned over Grandpa’s bedside. I held his long fingers in my own and placed a soft kiss on his thin boney cheek. I knew he was fading and saying goodbye was this soul crushing pain I’d never felt. After spending so much time with just the two of them I felt his struggle. I don’t believe he was worried about dying, he was worried about what he was leaving behind. I leaned closer where I knew he could hear me but no one else. I whispered that it was okay to go and that I promise to watch over Grandma and help take care of her. I received an ever so slight grip to my hand. I somehow managed to stand up and hug Grandma goodbye and walked out to the car. On my drive to the school gymnasium I called Dad to tell him he needed to get to the hospital, that I had a feeling Grandpa wouldn’t be with us much longer. 

I met Dave and the other three kids in the stands and tried to focus on Ryan’s game. My eyes were red rimmed and my heart was still in the hospital room with my grandparents. During the third quarter I got the call I was expecting and following the game I made my way back to the hospital. 

The funeral was held on my youngest brothers birthday, our Grandpa’s namesake. It also happened to be Dave’s birthday. I even wrestled up enough strength to share a piece I’d written eulogizing him. 

My Grandparents have played a very strong, positive part in my life and I am ever so thankful.

In ending I do want to stress how very blessed I’ve been. Things happen for a reason, me keeping my secret when I did, our moving back to town when we did and the storm that broke some branches that lead to the day I got to spend with my Grandma when she gave me the precious gift of acknowledgment and love.

Keep believing, keep searching for the good and always, always be grateful.