Norma J

My grandmother fell off a fence and into a pigpen when she was about three or four years old. At the age of three or four, I sat in her lap and looked at my grandmothers folded hand and wrist and rubbing it gently as she told me the curious story of it's disfigurement. She fell on her arm, her brother ran immediately to get her help (I always liked that part, i figured that is what older brothers should do- however I never had one..but I suspected mine would have to.) However, despite her brothers efforts, gram's arm was left in the care of a doctor who didn't do much- her hand set in this "L" shape- and made for a repetitive story time with her curious granddaughter.
One evening, about a month ago, I was wrapping presents, and because it was the beginning of my wrapping endeavor I took great care in measuring my paper, and folding my edges- and all that is included in the perfect wrapping job- I thought to myself: Gramie Rutherford would be proud. I distinctly recall seeing my grandmothers blue polyester pants staring back at me as she dug through her storage closet looking for boxes. She gently passed out the treasures of neatly saved and folded, not to mention used wrapping paper, scotch tape (the real stuff), and a bag of glorious plastic bows (the ones mom never bought). Together we carried our ingredients back to the big old kitchen table, where I was brought into the Grande tradition of impeccable wrapping and packing- it's the Rutherford way you know.

I remember watching her worn hands, one working, one remaining in it's "L" shape, hold down paper, places boxes, tape edges, fold corners, and place perfectly ever piece of that painted Christmas paper. Until finally her dance with wrapping was over, she gently asked me to place my index finger on the red ribbon she had looped around her package. She said, "Sarah hold your finger very still,” After seeing the seriousness of this wrapping event I held as still and as perfect as my little 6 year old self could. Let me tell you-- it was worth it, because gram soon informed me that the package was perfect (naturally due to my assistance), my father was sure to be impressed.

Me and gram: to be honest I cannot remember a time in my life, until now, where she was not a part- and a significant part at that. She would "let" me play dolls with her royal Dalton collections while she slept soundly in her bed, and when she awoke she would gently take them from my pudgy little hands and place them on a higher shelf. We would pick blueberries and make fresh muffins- where in I would eat both the blueberries and the batter before there were muffins, and when they were done, I would get the first one drenched in real butter and accompanied by a glass of milk in a gas station collectors glass (she had all 6).

She was the one who tucked me doubly even triply into her couch, so movement was not an option..and then placed her coffee table in front- for fear I may roll off. She was protective, however she loosened her grip long enough to allow Stewart and I to befriend all the ladies on her floor, and to take the new elevator to the ground with her garbage.

Stewart and I would ram sack her living room and makes forts of the most glorious invention, with afghans, fruit bowls and doors that accessed both the kitchen and tv. Gram was good to deliver toast at most any hour, and shake and bake was her expertise. We drove to Mother Brown's for taters, to Dairy Queen for ice-cream, and to the video store to visit cousin Angie. Grammie asked for nothing.

As Grammie aged, the adventures slowed down, but her beautiful lessons continued. She taught us all about patience, forgiveness and love. She watched as her family foolishly fought around her, and over her-- and she continued to love. She spent many nights alone, and many days with puzzles, and yet with patience she faced another day. When her family failed her, and her body failed her, and all that was left was her mind and sense of humor- she used it to make us feel better.

How are you gram?
I'm Old

and we would all chuckle.


When I told gram I was moving to South Korea she shook her head and inhaled with disapproval. She wanted to tuck me into her couch and pull out that coffee table again. In a way - I wanted to be tucked in. I would have been ok living in a fort on her floor, and you know she may have been ok with delivering toast forever- but time forced us out of our fort, and toasting making ways.

I kissed her on the head, and looked her in the eyes- and told her I loved her. She smiled- and responded with a simple "yes." We both knew it would be the last time we would see each other- we both chocked back tears, and we both said nothing more.

Receiving a phone call about her death was not surprising. We both knew- she and I, me and gram.