Page 3 of When We Were More
“Thank you all for coming to celebrate the life of my grandmother, Marilyn, whom you probably knew as Mari. If she were here, she’d wave her hand at us and tell us not to make a fuss over her. That’s how she was. She always drew people to her, with her energy and love, and your presence here is a testament to how many of you her life touched.”
Now it’s time for the words on the tear-stained piece of paper in my hands. I unfold it and attempt to focus on the letters staring back at me. They blur as my eyes fill with moisture. I blink several times, trying to clear my sight.
“Mari Evans lived in Aron Falls, in the same farmhouse she loved, from the time she was born until the day she died. That was how she wanted it. To you all, she was a friend, possibly your first-grade teacher, but, most of all, an example of what it means to live life to the fullest. She taught people how to be brave and not let fear hold them back from experiencing the beauty life has to offer. Her life, and her way of loving us all, will forever leave its mark on this town.”
I pause. The next part will be more difficult. They’re the words that remind me of what I’ve lost.
“My grandmother was a lot of things to me, but what she was most of all was a lifeline. When I was a lonely little girlconvinced that I didn’t belong anywhere, Gram showed me that wasn’t true. Even though the weeks I got to spend here every summer never seemed like enough, she loved me fiercely during those days, without question. Not because of something I did to earn it, but simply because I was her granddaughter. That love filled me up enough to get me through until the next time I got to come visit her. She made me feel like I belonged to herandto Aron Falls.”
“Most of you probably remember me as Mari’s chatty granddaughter who came to visit every summer, then eventually moved here five years ago. What you don’t know is that I moved here because Gram saved me. She, along with her lifelong friends, brought me home, and when danger tried to take me back, she and her unpredictable best friend, Ruthie, met him on the front porch with shotguns. If you need something to make you smile today, picture our Ruthie over there, chasing a car down the driveway while waving a shotgun. Other than that, the specific details don’t matter, but I sat on that porch swing, as many of you have, and I was a broken twenty-five-year-old woman who believed that there was no coming back from the direction my life had gone. Gram showed me that it wasn’t true. When I didn’t have the strength to stand up for myself, she did it for me. When I was afraid, she was my courage, and when I…”
The tears are coming fast now. I grab a tissue, turn my head, and blow my nose as quietly as I can, then turn back to the group.
“Sorry,” I whisper into the microphone. I clear my throat again. “When I felt I was unlovable, Gram showed me I was deeply loved, just as I am. She gave me enough love to last me a lifetime, and I’ll never be able to repay her for it. That’s the thing Gram taught me about love, though. Something I never experienced except with her. You don’t have to earn love. It’s a gift, not a transaction.”
I pause and focus on my notes to give myself a break. The eulogy is incredibly difficult to get through. With closed eyes, I allow my mind to wander back to a few months ago, right before Gram died. We were sitting on the porch, sipping sweet lemonade, and she was working on convincing me I could open my own accounting firm. Her confidence in me has always far outweighed my own.“You can do anything you put your mind to, Tillie girl. No one can limit you but yourself. You’ve got what it takes, and I’m not gonna let you keep lying to yourself and sayin’ you don’t.”
With her voice in the back of my head reminding me I can get through this, I open my eyes, ready to go on.
“Gram’s heart failure took her from me—from everyone in this town—less than a year after her diagnosis. It was too soon, though even twenty more years with her wouldn’t have been enough. Since she’s not here to do it, I ask that if you want to honor her life, each of us take up the mantle of loving and taking care of each other like Gram would have. If we all do that, it’s possible we’ll be able to have a fraction of the impact she had on us.”
I wipe the endless tears, then I turn my gaze upward. I’m talking to Gram now.
“Thank you for everything, Gram. I love you so much, and it hurts, but I’ll try to live in a way that honors you. Thank you for fixing the broken places in my heart. When I need to talk, I’ll meet you at the porch swing.” My voice catches on those last words, and I swipe at my tears with my forearm.
I grab my paper and hurry back toward my seat. Ruthie is up next, and she intercepts me on her way to the podium. She folds me into a hug—rare for her—and whispers in my ear, “You were everything to her, Tillie girl. You might not realize it, but you saved her, too. You healed her broken mother’s heart, something she lived with for years before you came.” Those words meaneverything to me. When she releases me, she kisses me on the cheek and goes to the stage while I return to my seat.
Ruthie starts her eulogy and, in typical Ruthie fashion, it’s straightforward, uncouth, and my grandmother would have loved every second of it. Many tears that were falling before she stood to talk disappear and are replaced with laughter and smiles as Ruthie details the memories she made with Gram. I’m tired, though. And I don’t have the ability to laugh or smile yet. It feels like I never will again.
I let my mind drift. Before she died in her bed at home, Gram made me promise her I would do two things. First, I would move forward with the restoration and remodeling of the house, with a start date already scheduled. We spent the better part of a year dreaming up what it would be like. It became one of my favorite parts of the day because it brought her such joy. Her eyes lit up whenever we worked on her plans. The other is more difficult—she wanted me to quit my job and chase my dream of starting my own accounting firm. We talked about it many times, and my excuse was always that it wasn’t time yet, or I needed to save more money. There was always something that prevented me from moving forward.
Gram saw my hesitancy for what it was. Fear. Fear and the belief that I’m not good enough or smart enough to run my own business successfully. But she made me promise that over the next year, I would do those two things. I will. For her. As soon as I can think about anything for a few minutes without grief consuming me…
CHAPTER 3
Tillie
I love surprises. Normally. I do not lovethiskind of surprise, though. Bile rushes up my throat as I gag and turn my gaze away from the toilet in a rush to the sink to expel the sour fluid I just threw up in my mouth. Gross.
I rinse my mouth, wash my hands, and then head into my now-gutted kitchen. At least the construction company was efficient and got it all ripped out in one day. With the state of my bathroom, on top of finding soda cans and a few cigarette butts lying on the ground outside my house when I got home from work, my confidence in Aron Family Builders & Restoration is quickly waning.
Perhaps Gram shouldn’t have given Ruthie’s glowing recommendation so much weight when she was deciding between contractors. The old bat may have liked them for something as ridiculous as how attractive the workers were. For “seventy-ish” years old—as Ruthie likes to tell people when they ask her age—she still finds a lot of joy in objectifying men. God, I can only imagine what she was like when she was younger. When her sister, Sally, is with her, they’re practically uncontrollable. I smile as I think about the two women. Ruthieand I may give each other shit, but underneath that crazy woman is someone who stepped up for me in a big way when I moved here.
Still, Ruthie and Sally’s ensuite bathrooms, which the same company renovated, are gorgeous, not to mention the work they did on the great room in their shared home. When Sally’s husband died ten years ago, she moved in with Ruthie, and they’ve lived together since. I’ve seen that the company iscapableof doing good work, and that’s the most important thing. I guess…
Renovating this old farmhouse isn’t any old project. It was Gram’s house—my safe spot as a childandas an adult. I’m convinced I wouldn’t have gotten through these last several years if I hadn’t been here in Aron Falls, Gram’s hometown. This small town and its residents wrapped me in the love and safety I’ve always experienced here since I was a child.
God, I miss Gram. I can’t fathom that she’s gone. My eyes burn as tears threaten to spill out when I let myself focus on the fact that she’s not going to see the house renovation. She was over-the-top excited about updating the kitchen, bathrooms, and the wraparound porch we spent many moments on.
There are two places where most heart-to-heart talks took place in this house: the kitchen table and the cedar swing on the porch. Those spots are where I feel most connected to Gram.
Moisture continues to build behind my eyes, and I force it away, shaking my head.
“Stop it, Tillie. You’ve got to get it together and make this call.”
At least no one else is around to hear me talk to myself. There’s no one to give me a hard time about it, which, except that it means Gram is gone, is generally how I like it. I keep my circle of trusted people very small. Life’s safer that way.
I grab my phone from the bag I left near the back door and go to the couch, snuggling into the extra-deep cushions. My favorite afghan—the vivid purple one Gram made—rests on the back of the couch. I drag it to me and cover my knees and feet. I find the contact I’m searching for in my phone and press call.
