Mother's Night: Remembering Gramma

late 1930's Gram, kids, cousins

The first night of Yule is Mother's Night, a time to celebrate our female Ancestors who gave us life, nurtured us, and passed down their wisdom and Gifts. My father's mother was a woman most worthy of honor. She raised her children during the depression on farmsteads in rural ND often with limited water supplies while her husband traveled the state working. Dad would always say that Gramma (who was about 4' 8") could pick up a grown man, turn him upside down, and drop him on his head...I suspect he may have witnessed and/or experienced this.She suffered incredible hardships as a child (I'll save that story for another day), and yet she was the most loving person I encountered during my first couple of decades on this planet.

I lost Gramma to esophogeal cancer in 1982 when I was 10. Her funeral was held on April 1st; I couldn't believe she was gone, and kept waiting for someone to say "April Fools!" and end the nightmare. Her sister Helen who I hadn't seen in years was at the funeral and looked just like Gramma, so when I saw her I thought it must really be some sort of horrible joke. But it was no joke, no elaborate hoax. My beloved grandmother who had showed me the unconditional love that was the Light in my Darkness, had passed to the afterlife.

I usually got to stay with Gramma during the Christmas school break, but that winter she was in the hospital. I asked my mother when I could go see her, but she told me that I could see her when she was "stronger and could sit up in bed." Funny how clearly I remember that lie.

Whenever I visited my grandmother the first thing she would do is send me out to the garage to get a pail of her butterscotch or chocolate chip cookies out of the deep-freeze to snack on while I was there. I would dip into the pail before the cookies were completely thawed...perhaps that is why I am so fond of frozen sweets to this day. Along with cookies she would make Nestle's Quick cocoa with canned Carnation milk. And never did I hear from her about getting "fat" if I ate too many sweets, nor was I told to suck in my gut so I didn't look fat; I was just loved, and accepted, and never once shamed.

I've been blessed to have a few things that belonged to my grandmother; the narrow bladed antique kitchen knife that she popped through the top of the Carnation cans to open them (even though she had a perfectly good can opener in her drawer), her hand mixer, and her recipe box including her cookie recipe. For years I didn't try to make her cookies because of some weird idea of it being sacrilegious, but a couple years ago I hunted through the box and found the recipe, and using her hand mixer (and a few modifications since I'm allergic to egg and wheat) made a batch of her cookies. Since then, it has become my Yule tradition to make a batch of her cookies to honor her memory and her love, and for awhile I have my Gramma next to me, her Light in my own heart. In the Pagan tradition I follow we speak of the Well, the Water's below that hold the Wisdom of our Ancestors. Perhaps the the Well is fed by the tears we shed for our beloved ancestors, if so, it has been well fed by grief.

But as I nibble my pile of cookies I remember my grandmother, and the love she blanketed me in. I remember her strength, her patience, and her gentleness. And I honor her for the gift of the healing of my Heart that I carry with me always.

Glad Yule! May your Kindreds bless you, guide you with their wisdom, and surround you with love!

PS: For those of you who know me, you probably know my love of cookies. My love of cookies isn't just a love of the perfect combination of chewy and crunchy, salty and sweet; it's about the Love that was baked into those cookies. Cookies are Love and Comfort.