But it's a secret she'll mysteriously keep. Early this morning, she entered into the arms of Jesus. And I think... what a difference a day makes. Yesterday, she had aspiration pneumonia. Today, she's breathing in the presence of the Lord. Aspiration Pneumonia, ever heard of it? Basically, anything you eat or drink makes its way into your lungs. And it's painful. Eating was painful, breathing was painful. Y'all... drinking her coffee resulted in pain. It's no wonder she was ready for Heaven. Morning with no coffee? She'll take Jesus, please. I jest. Obviously.
And then this Thursday morning of Holy Week, I'm reading through the corresponding scripture of Christ's life on this Thursday so long ago. He broke bread with his disciples. He prayed and agonized in the garden. He peacefully went under arrest. And I think... this man, this King whom I've been reading about my whole life. This Savior... my grandmother is with Him. Yesterday, a hospital bed and the hands of nurses. Today, home and the nail-scarred hands of Jesus. Who needs coffee?
I am thankful that her heart belonged to him. It gives us a sweet peace and hope. But I won't lie, it's still sorrowful. And nothing like knowing that I'll never see her again to suddenly crave knowing everything about her. Want to know the absurd question stuck in my head? It's this: did she clean her own house all these years? And if so, did she have a schedule... like Monday's for dusting, Tuesday's for laundry. Her house was always impeccable and I have a sudden, strong desire to ask her how she did it. I think I handle grief very strangely.
It's here I pause and think, what DO I actually know of my grandmother? For all but a handful of years, I have lived in a different city from my grandparents. Three of them I was too young. And one of them, I was an angsty 15-year-old. All the other years, my memories come from visits. This is what I know.
Bonnie Jean (Thurman) Wedan. Beloved wife of Richard (Dick) Wedan. And I mean beloved. There's not a time I remember when there wasn't a poem stuck to the refrigerator in her house: To Bonnie Jean, my blue-eyed queen...
I know these other random things about her. She was in the Chanute, Kansas Drum and Bugle Corp. Rhythm was her game. And for years she could still rock the fancy marching foot turn. She also had mastered cream couches, perfectly accented rugs and gallery walls before Joanna Gaines was even out of grade school. She had a beautiful flower garden and nice patio... though the cushions only made it out when she had guests. (And family rarely constituted as guests.) She made the best snicker doodles, chocolate chip cookies and graham cracker/icing sandwiches. Her house always smelled like coffee. And we shared the same happy place - an antique store. Antiques were artfully placed all through her house. When they made the decision to move to an assisted living facility, downsizing was hard for her. She was constantly sending a runner back to the old house to bring the vase that was on the right side of the TV, or the dishes that were in the hutch, or the oil lamps that were hanging on that one wall. She couldn't remember to take her medicine. But she knew exactly how her house was decorated. The last time I saw her in the new place, she had us rearranging the items above the cabinets. She had an eye, for sure. And a style I loved. So much so, I now have several things of hers all throughout my house. Sorry I took all those things, Grandma. But your stuff looks really good in my home. Besides, they make me think of you.
I inherited her love of antiques. And her nose. But not her wit. I was the first grandchild (by a whopping six days). Grandma probably prayed, "Lord, this one's not so funny. You should spread my wit around to any future grandchildren." And He did. Five of the six of us have very quick wit. I sit on the sidelines and contribute only laughter. I believe she always had a funny streak, but it wasn't largely prevalent until she had a car accident. And then suddenly she had one-liners for days. Maybe she always had them, but the accident unhindered her censor. At any rate, she caused many laughs with her humor. And that's always a gift.
For years, she worked at the Better Book Room, a Christian bookstore in Wichita. And when we visited her there, we'd stay for hours. As a kid, I thought it was the coolest place. Two stories. What is it about children thinking stairs are the marker of all "cool" establishments? Upstairs was the children's section. Grandma introduced me to the Mandie series and I wonder... did this kick off my reading obsession? Possibly. We'd also spend forever in the music section. Putting the demo tapes into the tape decks that were set out around the listening wall. This suddenly made me laugh. Tape decks. Oh, Eighties, we loved you.
She dressed well, always. (I'm not sure what she ever thought of today's yoga pants craze.) And she always drove a stylish car, though that was compliments of her Banker/Car Salesman husband. He was forever switching out her cars. I believe there was a story where she walked out of the grocery store and had to go back in and call Grandpa because she couldn't remember which car she was driving. The story goes, Grandpa's secretary at the bank answered the phone and said, "Dick, Bonnie's on the line. And she doesn't sound very happy." And then there was that time Grandpa bought her a 1972 Monte Carlo. She told him to take it back. He countered with, but it will be titled in your name. Her sons salivated over it. Grandma said she didn't want it because he'd be switching it out in three months anyway. Grandpa took the car back.
I called both of my parents today and asked them a million questions. I mean, you guys, my need to KNOW things is off the charts. It's cathartic. And so is writing. So here we are. This is what I learned.
She was a good cook. A home room mom. At one point, taught a 5th grade Sunday School class at Wellington Place Baptist. She hosted church friends. And apparently she could SET A TABLE. Something else I didn't inherit. She would make my dad's school lunch every day, put it in a brown paper sack, and then tell him to save the sack. For some reason, this struck me as funny. Dad said that by the end of the week, that brown paper sack would be on its last leg. Also, my dad hated lettuce. So she would put two pieces of bologna between the bread... and then hide a small square of lettuce between the slices of bologna. I don't think her sly attempt ever worked. But I'm not above trying the trick myself.
I asked Dad if she was the disciplinarian. He said she wouldn't hesitate to wash their mouths out with soap. And the yardstick was her "wooden spoon." But if the yardstick was ever utilized, it was followed by, "Wait till your dad gets home." So basically, she was the "appetizer" to the real punishment.
She loved the outdoors (surprise to me... but the family camping trips to Colorado prove it). Loved to travel. And would carry her lawn chair to the boys' games and then buy them pixie sticks from the concession stand afterwards. Oh, and there's this. There once was a time when banks would offer free gifts if you would open a new account. I believe she scored a new toaster and some glassware by moving some money over to open a couple new accounts. (Which would then be closed not long after.) I mean... if you're making a brown paper sack last for a week of lunches, you are not above getting a free toaster. We will call her resourceful.
Did I mention she loved decorating? She opened my eyes to the wonders of Ticky-Tac. Perfect way to have straight-hanging pictures. She would shop and shop and come up with creative decorating ideas. She loved taking walks in the evening, this way she could look in open windows to see how other people were styling their house. Dad said if they headed over to a new friend's house, she'd ask how the house was decorated. I don't think it was to give insight to the new friend's way of living. It was just a way for her to get more ideas. Ideas she was always searching for, enough to prompt her to pick up a Penthouse magazine one day thinking it was about decorating. It is not a stretch to imagine my little June Cleaver grandmother's reaction when the centerfold fell out. Oh, I cry just thinking about it.
I'm sure my uncles and my aunts and my cousins have their own memories of her. And I'm sure I've left out so many things. It feels a disservice to summarize 86 years into so few pages. But this I know: those 86 years were but a blip compared to the Eternity she just started.
Thank you, Grandma, for your long, light-hearted, well-lived life. The OCD in my brain thanks you for the introduction to Ticky-Tac. (It loves the straight pictures in my home. And the Ticky-Tac may have also helped straighten a shelf I hung incorrectly and didn't want to drill yet another hole in the wall.) Thank you for your grandmother clock, antique phone, those 3 chairs I took and the mini rocking chair. And the breadbox. And oil lamps. Oh... and the crock jugs and butter churn. Your collecting over the years has made my home a happy place. Thank you for showing me that antique stores can calm me. Thank you for all the cookies and the jar you kept filled with bite-sized snickers. Thank you for the matching outfits you always gifted to me and my cousins. (Might be one of my favorite memories now.) Thank you for your laugh and inspiring others to laugh. Thank you for creating a home that was always welcoming and comforting. Thank you for showing me a beautiful love story. Thank you for teaching your son about Jesus... who then helped teach me. I love you. And will see you when I get to go Home too.
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| My Grandma Bonnie and Me |
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