The Joy of Rambling

When I think of the perfect timing of God, and the gifts He drops divinely in our laps, I think of Betty.

She came into my life 28 years ago. I was pregnant with her son’s child. He and I were not married but planned to be. Until she stopped me in my tracks. “You don’t want to marry my son,” she said. “He has an anger problem. He can become violent.”

Those words confirmed what I was already sensing but didn’t want to acknowledge. For a mother to call her future daughter-in-law and warn her about her own son, was very telling. Betty was that kind of woman. She got in trouble with the rest of the family for doing it, but I am to this day, grateful for her courage. She spared me so much pain.

I gave birth to her granddaughter a few months later in March of 1997. She loved her from the start and became grandma to her and my other daughter who was almost three at the time. That began the beautiful story of our family’s expansion to include Grandma Betty, Grandpa Marlyn, Uncle Dale and Auntie Deb. Their other son and sibling, my daughter’s father, remained an elusive alcoholic who, to this day is drinking and unable to participate much in life. But his family made up for what he lacked, and then some. 

Beside my little crew, Betty had several other grandchildren whom she adored. She was a natural at loving little ones. She once told me they were fine until around age 13 or 14, and then she was all set. She had little patience for their teenage shenanigans, and likewise, they became too busy for Grandma Betty. She understood the stages of life and was clear about which ones she wanted to be present for. But as young adults, they married and started giving her great grandchildren. At that point she could have used more time with these babies than their busy parents could arrange, and I got to hear some complaints about that. 

Yes, Betty had a crabby side. Dale and Debbie can attest to that as well. It seemed she felt a need to pick at their life choices and give unwanted advice. I was lucky, not being a real daughter. I always told them I got the good side of Betty! And it was true. Sure, she complained to me about this or the other relative, but I was just a sounding board for her. Mostly we laughed a lot on the phone as I shared stories about the kids, and she told me how she and Marlyn were getting along.

Ahh Grandpa Marlyn. He was quite a character. In an obvious exaggeration, he would whine about how he had to hang around outside the house doing chores and projects all day until Betty let him in for lunch or dinner. As he peered longingly into the window, she stubbornly ignored him and worked on her crafts in front of the TV. Finally at the end of the day, he was allowed back in to eat and get warm. After he passed away suddenly, she said to me, “be careful what you wish for, Mindy.” Wise words. I know she really didn’t wish for him to die, but she did covet her alone time. Then all at once, it was all she had. 

Betty made the best of a challenging life. She was young when she married Marlyn. They lived on the Iron Range of Minnesota, in a small town called Embarrass, where the record-low winter temperatures frequently make the national news. Marlyn spent his whole career working in the mines, and eventually becoming foreman of the miners union. For the young couple, like so many at that time, money was tight. They purchased some land and started building their house from the foundation up. When the basement was finished, they capped it off with a roof and lived there until they could afford to build the rest. Their three children were born in that little basement. By the time I met her, it was a 3-bedroom rambler on a wooded lot with a backyard that seemed to extend forever into the forest. The front of the house faced a busy two-lane highway, which I imagine was just a country road when they first built. To me their house seemed out in the middle of nowhere. One year I tried to send her flowers and discovered the delivery people didn’t drive out that far. Betty had to drive into town to pick them up. Their closest store, Walmart, was 20 miles away. Every year she got a gift card from me at Christmas to spend on herself there, guilt-free. This year it never touched her hands. I should have sent it much sooner.

I knew she’d been in and out of the hospital recently with an infection that wasn’t responding to antibiotics. Dale was very good about keeping me informed. When I sent her Christmas card this year, I included a handwritten letter in which I tried to convey my feelings of gratitude for all she had done through the years. In the end, it arrived too late. She was still alive, but not coherent. I’m not sure if Dale tried reading it to her, but it probably didn’t matter. I think she knew how much I loved her. 

I’m so glad she’s home now with Jesus, with Marlyn, and with so many of her relatives and siblings who went before her. I think she was the youngest of twelve, so at her age, someone in the family was always succumbing to illness or dying. She felt the heartache for each one, and I could feel her pain through the telephone line.

When she passed away just before Christmas, I suddenly felt there was so much more I needed to say to her. Did she know how grateful I was for all she’d done for me and the kids? Did she know that Christmas was exciting every year because of the many presents she sent that poured out from under our tree? Did she know how I appreciated her listening ear as Jim started declining from Alzheimer’s? 

We moved out of state seven years ago and I haven’t been able to see her since. We talked on the phone on birthdays and holidays. Sometimes I’d call her out of the blue. She’d always say “Mindy! I was just thinking of calling you!” And then we’d laugh and start catching up. Those spontaneous calls were the most natural and joy-filled. 

When I married Jim in 2002, she attended our wedding, then stayed at our house to watch the kids while we took a short honeymoon. That was Betty. She was there the morning my own mother died. She’d been staying with us for a few days when I got the call. Immediately she offered to extend her stay so I could fly home to be with my dad and sisters. That was Betty. 

She was a worrier, full of love and laughter, honest and opinionated. A friend, sister and mother, all rolled into one. That was who Betty was to me.

I can’t find a proper way to end this post. The words “I will miss her” come to mind but seem so trite. When someone you love leaves this world, they take a little part of you with them. The space you carved out for them in your heart is now empty. Over time people say the pain of it softens, but I just think the void becomes a companion you’ve learned to live with. This is my hope: that I will learn to live with the part she took and continue to glean understanding from the wisdom she left. 

I think she’d be happy with that ending.