In Memory

In a family that is built on a strong (and lengthy) foundation of love and marriage, the loss of my grandparents caused me to pause and reflect on how important their relationship was in the success of my own family.

My dad's parent's, Ruth and Allan Woodrow, came across the Canadian border with unmatched work ethic, undying devotion to one another, and an unwavering commitment to their family.  They raised their five children in a Christ-centered home, teaching them about pride in yourself and your community, while also unveiling the abundance of the world one cross-country road-trip at a time.

My grandfather was a gentleman-- in the best sort of cliche' way, always wearing a coat and hat, opening the door for his bride even after 55 years of marriage, and working tirelessly to support his family.  He was self-less,  a family man, and loved to laugh about the beautiful things in life.  He was a die-hard softball player in his retirement years, and there was no better shuffleboard player in Florida.

My grandmother lived her life with a stiff upper-lip, rolling with the punches, not letting the challenges of life deter her from the path that God set before her.  She was devoted to her family, and her faith, and was a woman driven by the comfort of routine.

The memories I have of my grandparents are sunny-- literally because they spent their retirement in Florida, and figuratively because our time with them was always FUN.  Grandma always had special treats in her house that were like the holy grail for us-- Little Debbie cakes and cookies, Fruit Loops cereal, little bowls of peppermints and butterscotch in every room.  I'm sure my mom cringed at the excess of sweet treats available, but she understood that even in this small way, grandma was indulging and enjoying the fruits of her life-long labor.  Our weeks in Florida meant hours in the pool, family shuffleboard tournaments, carryout-pizza from the Snappy Tomato, rides in the golf cart, and baseball and game shows on television.

While we lived thousands of miles away in Europe, Grandma regularly sent handwritten letters, in her meticulous, flowing script, with updates about the weather in Florida and how Grandpa's softball team was faring.  She sent us crisp $2 bills on our birthday, and always shared little snip-its of her memories of traveling in Europe so we could compare notes.

Grandma and Grandpa knew that life was about loving what you do.  They taught me that hard-work pays dividends, and that you need to take time to enjoy all that you work for.  They taught me to figure out what you believe, and stick to it.  They taught me to laugh, and love, and constantly learn.

The family gathered two weeks ago in Canada to put my grandparents to rest, and while it was the end of a significant era in all of our lives, there was a beautiful unity present in the family that hasn't been tangible in years.  There was healing, closure, and well-springs of emotion so palpable that it felt as if grandma and grandpa had their arms wrapped around us the whole weekend.

My dad reminisced with his siblings about trips to the family cottage, scoops of grape ice-cream on hot summer days, the antics of kids "sitting quietly and watching the scenery" as the family drove cross country in a station wagon.
Listening to the stories and watching the home movies that my aunt had transferred to dvd gave me a chance to peer through a window opened over fifty years ago, and experience the story that has been unfolding ever since.

Stained glass windows in St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church in Windsor, where Grandma and Grandpa  were married.

Through their lives, Grandma and Grandpa built a foundation for this family.  They did the best they could to give lasting gifts-- whether they be memories that made us laugh so hard we cry, or treasured beanie babies that had a special place on grandma's shelves, and now have a special place in our hearts.    And, we have discovered, in their death, those gifts permeating our lives in everyday, ordinary ways that bring a little smile to our faces in the midst of a hurried day, or warm our hearts in the fog of an early morning slumber when the memory of grandma and grandpa dances vividly across our subconscious.  They may not be here on earth with us any more, but their presence is still firmly rooted in our lives in the legacy of love and faith that they laid for each of us.