For Activity Day Girls, our ward held a recognition night with the theme of "Legacy. Noble Past, Brilliant Future." Each of the girls and their mothers were assigned to speak about one of their grandmothers. The girls were to bring in an object to help tell the story and the moms were specifically asked to think of what legacy her grandmother passed down to her.
Luckily, Miciah has 2 wonderful grandmothers to choose from and after thinking for some time, decided to talk about Grandma Tungate (probably because she was supposed to bring in an object and Grandma Tungate makes lots of stuff). She brought in her yellow blankie that my mom made and 2 books that she gave to Miciah. Here is the talk:
Grandma Tungate (with hearts and stars)
I love my Grandma because she has done many things for me and my family. She makes blankets for us all the time. My baby blanket she made for me is yellow and it has holes in it. I allways sleep with it no matter what. My Grandma tungate offen tells me and my cosen, Dea stories about Jesus. She is vary tallented at soeing, crafting, and planting things. I love my Grandma vary much. She gives me books sometimes, too. a few weeks ago she gave me all sorts of church stories and books that I injoy reading. My Grandma is vary smart. She gives us costumes and dress ups that she made from when my mom was a kid. when we where in Utaa this summer, she bought me and Dea our new scripshurs. I am greatful for my Grandma.
I didn't help her past starting her with "I love my Grandma because..."
My task was somewhat more difficult because my Grandma Ogzewalla, who I gather was a wonderful person, died when I was 7 or so, and I didn't know her. My other grandmother, Grandma Tungate (my dad's mom), was an awful person. I had no object associated with either of them, and no good story talking about our good times together. I simply don't have those kinds of memories.
So I decided to give the girls a lesson on Legacy. It's one of the lessons that returning to Cincinnati has taught me, and it's a story worth telling.
As an adult, I've come to understand what a lousy person my Grandma Tungate was. Unfortunately, she was very mentally ill and gave out no love or kindness or anything. I describe her as Non-Human, and as far as I can tell, from what I knew of her in her later life, she had no soul at all. Her life story is tragically pathetic.
But it's a life story worth knowing. I remember the morning my dad told me she had passed away. He was standing at the table reading the paper or something. I walked in and he said, "Ester died last night." He never called her mom. She was Ester. I hesitated, not knowing how to respond. Finally I said, "Should I say 'I'm sorry'?" He said, "Are you sorry?" "No." "Then don't say it." I was grateful he wasn't going to make me pretend I was sad. After another thoughtful pause I said, "We don't have to go to her funeral, right?" He told me he wouldn't even think about making us go. I was relieved. He went, of course, because she had given birth to him, and that's at least worth noting in the end, but he didn't drag any of us kids along.
(I was, however, fiercely loyal to my Grandpa Tungate. We finished that conversation at the table by me saying, "Now, when GRANDPA dies, I don't care WHERE I am in the world, you WILL be flying me back for his funeral." Dad said, "Of course," and that was that.)
No one was sad at the funeral. No one had anything good to say about her. It was a sad ending to a sad life. And whenever I'm wondering how I'm doing in life, I think about how Ester died unloved because she refused to give love, and I know that when I die, at least 5 people will be sad and will know I loved them, and that feels triumphant, and I know I'm doing alright.
My Grandma Tungate lived in Cincinnati, just like my Grandma Ogzewalla did. Hazel. I have no personal positive memories of the woman. In fact, I remember her being harsh and forcing me to pick up my crayons when I didn't want to. A 4-year-old's memory, and not an accurate representative sample of the woman's life.
But moving to Cincinnati has brought me in contact with many people who knew Hazel. They look at me and say, "You must be an Ogzewalla" or "You're Hazel's granddaughter!" I always laugh. I'm not sure which features are so distinctive, but it even tips off people when they haven't seen Hazel since at least the mid-80's.
And then they talk about her. They tell me stories of her goodness and love and kindness and service. They talk about how she was motherly and creative and talented and patient. And it's impossible to explain, but they talk about her with a certain tone in their voices. A look in their eyes. They talk to me as a way to try to connect with this woman who has passed on, and I can't be anything but respectful to them and in awe of this woman I never knew. This clearly beloved woman that makes people seek me out and talk to me in reverent, grateful tones. People LOVED this woman in a way that I don't anticipate being LOVED when I'm gone.
And I don't know what it was about Hazel that makes people love her so, but the sense that I get from others is so overwhelmingly positive and loving, that there is no doubt in my mind that she was a wonderful person. I consider it one of the treasures of moving to Cincinnati--getting to know Hazel through other people's eyes.
And this is the legacy left me by these two women. Ester on the one hand and Hazel on the other.
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