Grandmas' Perseverance (Re-post for Gather Writing Essential)

 This was orginally written February 06, 2007 for the Two Word Challenge group. The words, "cellar door"  was that weeks writing challenge.

                                              Grandmas' Perseverance

 Before my Grandpa died, Grandma cared for him during his sickness, and also kept her country home neat and tidy. She was a busy woman, and often surrounded by her adult children and their kids, while everyone waited for Grandpas' last breath. There was a solemn air about the home, and all the kids knew to behave, even though we didn't fully understand the situation.

 Finally, Grandpa was taken to the hospital, and, at the ripe age of 110, he was gone. After the funeral, I don't recall Grandma showing any tears publicly. Soon, everyone went back to their own lives, and left her alone in the house Grandpa had built with his own hands, back when they were both young- before my time.

 Looking back, I'm sure she was lonely and sad, and tried to relieve the emptiness in her life by the only method she knew, and that was by working. Oh, but the tasks she chose astounded us all! Even though we lived close, (Mom, Dad, my siblings, and I), we could not have predicted she would tackle the clean-up of the spring stream/creek bank that ran at her properties' edge. She must have started at dawns light, on that spring day, but when Dad offered to do it for her, she would have none of that, and continued until about two o'clock. When she was satisfied with the placement of all the loose rocks that had been in the flow, but now shored up the bank sides, she changed from cold, wet clothes and got some pruning shears. The wild rose bushes got a nice, neat trim. I hated to see the bunches of blossoms discarded on the brush heap, but she assured me, it would be okay. "Just wait and see next year." she said.

 The next week, she marked a place beside her house, and started digging. She dug down and under the edge of the foundation. It took some time on this job, but finally, later in the summer, she had a large space dug out, and we could stand upright in the hole under her kitchen floor.

 I will never forget the first time she let me step down into the place she had made to store potatoes and home-canned jars of foods. Neither will I forget seeing the expression on her face, when, later, the job was finished, and she securely fastened a lock in place. I think that was a pivotal point in my life, but I didn't quiet get the full impact of her determination of perseverance, nor did I realize to what extent it affected me.

 Years later, as I've aged, and endured hurts of my own, I've often wished I had a place to bury my pain, as Grandma did that year, behind the cellar door.

                                                                  ~