MY SILENT GIANT

(This was written by JoAnn in 1998 - Posted by Jeff Juhala)

I’m sure we’ve all had at least one. Those who are very fortunate might have two or three. Some are hard to recognize.

A giant should stand tall, be very imposing, maybe a little frightening even.

But that is the way we have been programmed to think about giants. Not all giants are easily recognizable. When I saw my first Silent Giant, I didn’t recognize her at all; in fact she seemed like anything but a giant.

Her name was Lettie Geneva Plummer Moore and she was my maternal grandmother. I don’t remember our first encounter, she was just always there.

During the beginning years, she lived far away so our encounters were few and far between, but she always existed in my life. My mother spoke of her often and they exchanged letters – that’s the way things were done in those days. Phone calls only meant bad news and were very expensive. We always received birthday cards and a Christmas present in the mail.

When I was 7, my tall, very stern and serious grandfather had a stroke and passed away. This was a sad time for my grandmother, as he was the center of her life and she lived just to be in the circle of his presence. They were farm people, so farming and raising children was all she had ever done. She was in her early 60’s and didn’t know that she was starting on a 30 year journey of living alone. At first, she lived with one son or the other, working at a few odd jobs, sitting with older people, babysitting when she was needed and even washing dishes at a local restaurant. These were all temporary and not the delight of her life. But she never complained. She just seemed to roll along with whatever the situation, grateful to be alive.

After a few years of being a rolling stone, she came to our house to stay. Our house was small but she and I shared a room and she was a delightful, disciplined roommate. She felt that when the alarm went off, it meant it was time to get up. I had other ideas. I would cover up my head and she would gently shake the bed. After a few times of this, I gave in and got up just because I knew I couldn’t win.

She soon found a small place of her own and settled down for the rest of her life close to my school. I could drop by on the way home from school and she was always there with a candy dish of corn candy and marshmallow peanuts.

She was active in the ladies church group and never seemed to be lonely, even when she was alone. She read her Bible and many other magazines, listened to the radio, sewed, croqeted lace doilies and pillowcases and loved to quilt. I would stop by and cut out quilt blocks. We would put them together like the pieces of a puzzle, sew them and then start to quilt the back and stuffing to the top. The quilt tops were always made of old scrapes so you could pick out the pieces that had been a play outfit, a school dress or the very nice “Sunday Dress” that you only wore on special occasions. Quilts were always full of memories.

I didn’t realize it then that in her quiet way she was instilling in me many thoughts and values that still govern my life. She always told me to close my closet before I went to bed. To pick out my clothes for the next day so I didn’t have to stand in front of my closet trying to decide what would make me beautiful and to always go to bed early because I had a hard time getting up in the morning. She was never a leader in her eyes, but set her own pace.

She traveled the states on the Greyhound bus because that was all she could afford, and seeing her other children and grandchildren was more important than the convenience of traveling any other way and her will was stronger than her fear of any danger along the way. She had a quiet sense of humor, but a deep respect for my parents and the standard that they set for our family.

When I was in high school, she let us use her old garage for a Halloween party. That was in the days when we didn’t know Halloween was bad and just enjoyed having a fun time together. She helped us decorate and keep it a secret because no one was supposed to know the location and we just kidnapped the kids from the church. She delighted in having all the kids over and tried to teach us to pull taffy, which we never mastered.

The day of my wedding, as I woke to the sound of rain beating on the window and pouring down the drain, the phone rang and it was Gramma. The first thing she said to me was, “Happy is the bride the sun shines on.” I laughed and said, “Gramma, it is pouring rain!!”. She giggled and replied, “I know”.

When Harold was drafted into the Army, and I was expecting Janelle, we decided I would wait for him to find where he was going to be stationed before moving there. That meant I would have the baby first and then go to be with him. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but seemed to make the most sense……to everyone but Gramma. One day she called me and very emphatically said, “You need to be with your husband, he shouldn’t be there all alone.” She was right, so a month before Janelle was born, I moved from one to coast to the other and it was the best idea.

As my children came along she helped and enjoyed having little ones around again. One Christmas Eve there was knock on the door and there stood Santa with a bag of goodies. Santa wore a flannel red cap (to cover up any gray hair), my dad’s red sweater, a pillow stuffed in the usual places, red flannel underwear to look like pants and funny black boots that I had seen in my dad’s closet. But Santa didn’t sound like my dad – Santa sounded very much like my Grandmother.

One day, as she was getting older, I took her to have a TB X-ray. They did them in a traveling trailer and you had to catch them when they came to town. As we crossed the street, she tripped on the curb and fell to her knees on all fours. I was so frightened, I grabbed her arm to help her up, because if she was up, then I would know nothing was broke. With her trying to catch her breath, and me pulling on her arm, nothing was working properly. Finally, she looked up and me and said, “Jo Ann, I have to breath to live, but you aren’t going to help by breaking my arm.” We both sat down and laughed, caught our breath, and then proceeded to get the X-Ray.

I remember the day she wanted me to take her to the funeral home to make her arrangements. It was such a silly thing to do, because I never expected her to need them. She just matter-of-factly talked to the director, walked into the casket room, picked out a sensible casket, (“No reason wasting money on something like that”), and we went on our way.

On her 90th birthday, we planned a party. She didn’t want any fuss, but did love to have her loved ones around. The kids all came and she was “Queen for the Day”. At dinner time, we all went to the Riverview restaurant close to the water. It was the nicest place in town, and basically the only one. The hall was large and open to the public, so they put the tables in a U-shape for us at the end of the room for the most privacy they could provide. Gramma was so embarrassed, but went along with us in her own quiet way. At the end of the dinner, the waitresses came out with a piece of cake and we all sang Happy Birthday. Then the whole room joined in. Instead of hiding under the table as I expected her to do, she carefully stood up slowly, smiled her big but shy smile, put one hand on the table, and with the other hand gave the crowd a “Queen of England” wave. She did indeed look like royalty.

After she broke her hip and had to move from her little apartment, her life became days and nights that all rolled into each other at the rest home. As with most people in this situation, she remembered most of her friends, but confused those closest to her. At times she didn’t know my name, but always asked me about the kids and called them by name. Those days were hard, especially for my mom. As we watched her transform from her earthly body to her heavenly body, we missed the days that used to be, but knew that she was ready to be with the Lord. We still miss her.

It is hard to think of her as a young bride, but we have pictures to prove she was, how she stood so very tall. She spoke of playing baseball and dating my grandfather in his buggy, of going to church picnics and living on the farm.

As I get older, my mirror seems to look more and more like her all the time. I think of the funny things that she instilled in me along the way and hope I can show her the honor that is due in my relationship with my grandchildren. jj 5/3/98