Snapshots From the Heart

Snapshots From the Heart       by Janice Ewbank

While there are some images that fade from my mind's eye, there is one that cannot be dimmed. It encompasses much of who I am and, at some level, who we all are. It is the icon that I hold in my heart that says, "Rest easy, all is well in your life." Each one of us carries a snapshot that represents our underlying personal, yet universal, need to know we are secure in that innocent state of hope and unconditional love. In an instant, I can pull out my internal photo album containing various angle shots of my Grandma Wahl.

Photo #1:  When I was six years old, Grandma Wahl came into the house touting an air of excitement, and a package. "Open it, Doll Baby. It's something very special," she said. When I opened the box, Grandma laughed at my look of confusion. "It's a jigsaw puzzle. Put the pieces together. It's a puzzle of somebody very special. Can you guess who it is?" As I carefully examined each newly placed puzzle piece I guessed, "Abraham Lincoln? Snow White?... Who is it?" Then, as I placed the last piece on the puzzle, the piece with the picture of white rickrack around the collar of my little blue dress that I had worn in my first grade school picture, I exclaimed, "It's me, Grandma, it's me!" I have never forgotten what she said next. "See! I told you it was a puzzle of somebody very special. Each time you put together your puzzle, Honey, remember that you are somebody special." I never needed to put the puzzle together again. 

I knew I was cherished.

Photo #2:  Here, I find a collage. First, pictures of me as I matured from a toothless wonder in first grade to an awkward adolescent in seventh; a hand-sewn dress displayed in each picture. Grandma would spend hours adding just the right buttons, collar, or sleeves, just to be sure I was able to smile with pride on picture day. Next, it was that miserable day in August, when it must have been 117 degrees outside. On top of that, I came down with the stomach flu and felt like I was going to die. What a relief, when Grandma Wahl came over and gently pulled my hair up off of my damp neck, wiped my forehead with a cold washcloth, and then tucked me into her bed of clean, cool, crisp sheets. How could I feel so bad, yet so good.

I knew I was cared for.

Photo #3:  Now, here's a picture that makes me laugh. Up until Grandma was 85 years old, every Friday was her volunteer day at St. Joseph's Hospital. Grandma only weighed about 100 pounds. She wore her blue and white uniform, with her pins and awards lined up across the pocket, nylon stockings, and those little black shoes that Grandmas wear. One Friday, when Grandma was 83 years old, she came home through the kitchen door, like she did every week, and distributed Chuckles candy and a "treasure" from the Hospital Auxiliary Rummage Sale for my brother and me. My brother and grandma teased each other, as they always did, and Steve made a little comment about being able to "take Grandma down" if she didn't watch out. The next thing I remember, Grandma lunged forward, grabbed my brother, and they toppled over. I was gasping and laughing at the same time, as our little 83 year old grandma wrestled my brother to the floor.

I knew laughter.

Photo #4:  Christmas Eve. You could count on it; my brother, Grandma, and I would all sleep in one room and go to bed as soon as it got dark. We would turn the radio on to the station that played Christmas music, tell stories, and argue with Grandma as she tried to convince us that we needed to get to sleep so that the "Easter Bunny would come". Grandma would get up on Christmas morning at 5:00 a.m., and we would wake up smelling the coffee and almost tasting the cinnamon toast that was being made the way only Grandma Wahl could make it. Then we lined up, youngest to oldest, and marched down the hall to the beats of the Perry Como Christmas Album to see what the Easter Bunny, I mean Santa Claus, had delivered. 

I knew family traditions.

Photo #5:  As I pull out this photo, I sense that it is the most coveted picture of all. It is the photo that represents all that is innocent in my world. Weekends with Grandma, when she was staying alone at Aunt Ruth's house! Just me, my brother, and Grandma Wahl. She calls for our requests for Saturday night dinner. We pick whatever we want, and she will fix it. Ice cream, just for us. The most amazing Hide-and-seek hiding places. Forts, all over the house. Roller skating on the patio until 10:00 p.m. Playing office with my aunt's real office supplies. Getting to go through Grandma's vanity... diamond and ruby rings, butterfly pins, a mirror with real pearls, lots of gadgets... a world of treasures. In this place, in this time, life is simple. 

I didn't have to "know" anything.

Photo #6:  Final snapshot. Grandma was 93 years old. I am now an adult, 9 months pregnant with my third child and second daughter. My first daughter, Heather, is 5 years old. For the last two years, we had visited the nursing home often, sneaking Grandma Wahl her coveted chocolate mints and Ruby Port wine. There was always a mint for Heather and a story to tell, Grandma's wrinkled hand reaching out to touch the face of a life just beginning. But today a life has ended. Heather places her carefully chosen red rose gently on Grandma Wahl's grave and whispers, "I remember that red is your favorite color. I love you Grandma Wahl." We say goodbye.  

For several years after Grandma died, when Heather would be very upset about something, she would reach a point where she would cry out from the depths of her soul, "I just want my Grandma Wahl!" Heather was only 5 years old when Grandma died. Heather really didn't even know her... or did she? 

I believe Heather's cry is the cry of every human being, longing to hold on to the truth that prevails in our personal snapshots from the heart: To know we are cherished. To know we are cared for. To know laughter. To know the security of unconditional love. To know that there is a place where we can go for the assurance that says, "Rest easy, all is well in your life."