Today
is my grandmother’s 94th birthday.
Marian Schulz
is a marvel. She is my inspiration. She still lives on her own, in her own
house. She still drives her little SUV and
talks state troopers out of tickets. She had her knee replaced so she could continue to dance. Her
calendar is full of parties and appointments.
Her clothes are contemporary and her jewelry
statement pieces. She is quick with a
laugh and equally quick at making the lowly quake with fear. She is a rock, the core of our family.
 |
| Marian Arp Schulz, age 18 |
This
Christmas, I missed celebrating the holiday with my grandmother and extended
family for the first time in years. We
always travelled from St. Louis, despite weather and timing, but now the
distance is too much.
When I was
growing up, Christmas Eve on the farm with Grandpa and Grandma was something I looked
forward to all year. But as the family grew and changed, so did Christmas. The farm is
gone. So is Grandpa. But Grandma still invites her brood to gather
for the holidays…all 60 of us! She still
brings her Southern Comfort punch, even if she can’t drink it. (That was a lesson learned the hard way, when
a couple glasses of punch made her defibrillator “zap” her one Christmas. I imagine her cardiologist told her she
shouldn’t drink alcohol, but that was one instruction she conveniently forgot.)
Even
though I didn’t make it to the party, I received my Christmas gift from Gram. It was a book. Of her stories.
The book
was the brainchild of my mom and Aunt Julie.
They sat Grandma down, asked her to tell them her stories, while they
added ones of their own. Grandma talks
of growing up on the farm and becoming a farmer’s wife, of raising her children
and losing a son. She talks of hard work
and heartbreak, love and laughter. They are
the stories of a life. I have received
few gifts as precious.
 |
| Gram, Julie, Mom |
In this
book, she also found a way to impart words that might have gone unsaid, words
that might have waited for a better time and never found one. These are hers: “You can love your children with all your
heart, rejoice for them, grieve for them, and try to help, but in the end, with
luck, you are alone with the man you’d chosen to live with. In the end, there is something to be said for
the undemanding life that is compensation for growing old. You had your regrets and disappointments,
even a kind of haunting depression knowing that any day it could all end. But mostly you give thanks for what you had
in the past and what you hoped for in the future – for health and serenity, for
yourself and the ones you love. Life was
more kind than cruel.”
Life
has always been more kind with you in it, Gram.
Happy Birthday.
