My Grandma’s Brooch by De Anna Pitillo Davis
“Grandpa, I’ll cherish this forever!”
Grandpa Pool had called several days before my wedding and asked if I could stop by house on the way home that afternoon. I told him that I would. It jarred me to think how little time I really spent with him. I promised myself to slow down and do better.
That afternoon when I went by, Grandpa moved in his own slow grandpa-way to a special drawer and pulled out a little box, held it fondly in his weather-worn hands for a moment, then presented it to me. I carefully lifted the lid of the antique box. Underneath a piece of soft cotton lay a delicate, beautiful brooch in the shape of an iris. Beneath it was a handwritten note from my grandpa. It read:
Dear Sweet De Anna,
Because I love you and because I think it would please your Grandmother Alma Pool, I want you to have this beautiful pen. It may be antique, so you can wear it as something old at your wedding. But accept it as a token of my love for you.
GrandDad Pool
I was so touched. Nothing in the world could ever outshine this gift. Memories started pouring into my memory. You see, my Grandma babysat me while my mother worked in town. And we were buddies. I remember one day we went to town to meet mom for lunch, and I scarfed my hamburger. I told mom that I wanted another one, and she said, “No, you don’t need one.”
Well, I was the scrawniest five-year-old you ever saw. Who would think that any one child that small could devour two hamburgers. My grandma did. She ordered me another one, and I ate every bite of it – probably just to show my mom that I could. That’s the kind of pals we were – Grandma and me. Mom tells me that Grandma always had to leave the room when she got on to me. Grandma thought I could do no wrong!
I remember one day right after Grandma had had her first heart attack. Mom told me that Grandma had to stay in bed and get her rest. We were over visiting, and mom was doing some cleaning in the kitchen. She tried to get me to leave Grandma alone so she could rest. But Grandma said, “No, let her climb up here beside me in bed.” That’s the day she taught me to recite the 23rd Psalm, one verse at a time.
My last day with Grandma is forever sketched in my mind. We were going to go have lunch in town with Mom. It was late November, and the air had a crisp, frosty bite to it. Grandma had given me a bath and told me to lie down on her bed and rest until she finished her bath. I remember lying there on the bed. So there I lay, wriggling just enough so that there would be no danger of accidentally falling asleep. Suddenly I heard Grandma scream. I knew something was wrong. I ran to the bathroom and there she lay, stretched out in the tub. She was totally naked and looked as if she were asleep. She would not answer me. I remember thinking that a drink of water might help her feel better and wake up. I ran to the kitchen, pulled the stepping stool over to the kitchen sink, climbed to the cabinet, found a glass and filled it with water. I hurried back to the bathroom, hoping t find Grandma awake. But she wasn’t. I poured the water in her mouth, but it just ran back out and down her chin. I knew in my heart that it was not good and that I had better go get Grandpa. I knew he was on the tractor somewhere on the farm. I just had to find him.
I was still dressed only in my little cotton petticoat. I ran outside and looked around. My other shoe was under the car. I remember thinking, “I’ll just have to go without it.”
The closest neighbor was about a quarter of a mile away. I ran as fast as my little legs would carry me. When I reached the front porch, I opened the screen and pounded with all my might on their front door. I kept thinking that surely they were there but just couldn’t hear me.
Finally, I realized that no one was home, and that I had to do something else. I looked around and saw Grandpa’s tractor way up in the field. I knew what I had to do. I took off running as fast as I could go, one shoe on and one shoe off. I don’t remember feeling cold and I don’t remember my one shoeless foot hurting as I ran along that long turnrow up to the field to where Grandpa was plowing. I don’t remember feeling anything at all except that I had to get to Grandpa. I knew that was very important. Finally I reached him, and as soon as he caught sight of me, he stopped his tractor and came running to meet me. I told him that Grandma was very sick and that she needed him. He asked me some questions while he drove the tractor to the house.
I don’t remember very much after that. It was as though I cold turn it all over to Grandpa now. In my heart I believe that I knew all along that she was gone, even though I had no idea all that meant.
I remember sitting by Grandpa in the bedroom as he called Mom, the doctor, and a million other people. All I knew was that my Grandma was gone, my Mom was so very sad, and that nothing would ever be quite the same without her.
No more wonderful days sitting in front of the antique dresser with the two folding mirrors on the side while Grandma braided my hair on one side and Mom braided my hair on the other. (I always thought that I was real lucky to have any hair left at all after the two of them got through fixing me.) No more days playing makeup in front of the magical dresser while Grandma let me play with her powder and lipstick. No more days shopping with Grandma and Mom in town, no more luncheons for the three of us. No more helping Grandma fry fish sticks for Grandpa’s lunch and eating them faster than she cold fry them. (She must have thought I was a little pig.) No more days laying beside her in bed reciting the 23rd Psalm together. Our special times were over, but never to be forgotten.
Since that time, I cannot count the times complete strangers have introduced themselves and told me that my Grandma was the most wonderful woman they every knew. She was a devoted wife, a wonderful mother of seven, and a warm and adoring Grandma. They say she never turned anyone away who needed help, she was a compassionate neighbor and a loving Christian woman. I wish that I had known her better and longer, but I thank God that the few beautiful memories I have of her still linger. That is why I write this. I am fortunate to have been soul buddies with such a beautiful Grandma, and I do not want to forget. And I want my children to understand the rich heritage she left them.
This brooch has brought back a flood of memories that I have previously dwelt on only briefly and never recorded or explored for my own satisfaction. Writing this has provided its own healing for me and given me the opportunity to share with my two most precious treasures, my daughters. As you wear this brooch on your wedding day, cherish the love that it symbolizes. Share this rich heritage of family love with your mates and with your children. One day I hope my granddaughters and great-granddaughters will wear it on their wedding days, too. I think this would please tour Grandpa and Grandma Pool, and I know it would make me happy.
