My Grandma Fern

My grandma passed away on June 4, 2013. She was 86 years old, and was a wonderful, strong, courageous woman. I am one of her 59 grandchildren -- her first granddaughter. I miss her, and this post is for her.

A couple of weeks before we left on our trip to Boston and New York, my mom called one evening to tell me that her mother, Grandma Fern, was in the hospital after another major heart attack. In the previous few months she had suffered three or four different heart attacks. After this one, the doctors informed her and her children that her heart was operating on less than 17%.

Along with the heart attack, they suspected other problems, including kidney and/or bladder cancer, and internal hemorrhaging. With her heart functioning at such a reduced capacity, they were hesitant to operate, but suggested an initial laparoscopy to locate problem areas. Grandma refused, and told them she did not want any surgical procedures at all. Her children discussed with the doctors -- and with her -- and decided to take her home to their homes, and arrange for hospice care to make sure she was comfortable and not in pain.

She spent her remaining weeks in the care of her sweet daughters and daughters-in-law, in their homes, as she had been for the last few years of her life. On the day she passed away, she spent the afternoon and evening surrounded by almost all of her nine living children and their spouses. They sat around her bedside and sang songs together, told stories, and reminisced with her about some of their favorite memories of her as a mother. She was quite lucid, but at times seemed to drift. She thought it was Christmastime, and kept asking them if it was snowing outside. She asked her daughters to take some money from her purse and buy Christmas presents for all the grandkids.

One sweet incident my mom told, that I don't want to forget... At one point in the afternoon, she asked her youngest son, Rick, if he could get "four $5s" out of her purse for her. He found the money (though her children cared for her, they always made sure she had her "own" money in her purse, as she occasionally liked to give it out to them or to grandkids, for various little gifts and trinkets). Grandma held the $20 in her hand and whispered to Rick that "this is for Karen. Is Karen here?" My mom came to her side and told her, "I'm here, Momma."
"This is for you, Karen. I want you to take this money and buy yourself something really nice."
"Thanks Momma. Maybe I'll go buy some nice perfume or something?"
"I don't know what kind [of perfume]... but buy something nice."
At that point, my mom's younger sister Robin walked into the room and saw my mom taking the $20. She sat down next to her mom and, teasing, said, "Are you giving out money, Momma? Did you just give Karen $20??" Grandma nodded that yes, she had given the money. As when they were children, Robin pretended to protest and said, "Well, how come you're giving Karen money, and not me??"
Grandma was quiet for a moment, then shook her head a little and whispered, "Karen works!"

Everyone laughed out loud at this. It's true, my mom was the oldest of their family of nine children. And she did, indeed, work very hard, right along side her mom for years and years, helping to care for so many younger siblings. I love that she was able to get that time with her mother, and that parting tribute -- one last little gift from Momma.

In the evening one of Grandma's sons gave her a priesthood blessing, releasing her spirit from this life. She passed away just before midnight, with some of her children attending her bedside.

I got to see her one last time before she died, as our family was leaving for Boston. We spent the evening with her at my Aunt Darla's house. She was so sweet and kind, though it was easy to tell she was in pain and was extremely tired. I spent time sitting at the foot of her bed, talking to her and listening to her talk to her son, Rick, and his wife, Janell, who had also come to visit that night. She told me several times, "I'm so glad you came, Kamber. It's so good to see you. You have such a beautiful family." I'm sad to admit, I forgot to take pictures with her that night. But I will not forget how beautiful she looked, with her long red hair and her make-up all fixed up like usual, and a nice light blue blouse and dress pants -- even though she was in her bed much of the time. The last picture I took with her was at our Phelps family Christmas party last December...

We were able to attend her funeral on June 15, in Grantsville, Utah. It was such a sweet, hard experience, but I'm so glad I was able to be there, to grieve with all my family, and to see her one last time. She looked so peaceful and beautiful at her viewing, all dressed in white, like an angel. At the funeral, I played the piano for my mom and her siblings while they sang a song their mother had taught them when they were young -- a ballad about some Mormon missionaries, trying to share the gospel in Illinois. I've always loved hearing them sing; they all have beautiful voices and harmonize with each other beautifully -- something their mother taught them.

I wrote a tribute to Grandma Fern shortly after she passed away, sharing some of my memories of her and what I've learned about her and from her, through all her children's stories and examples. I thought of sharing it here, but it's looong... and some of it may be too personal. But I will say, she had a hard life, and she lived it well. She raised her family to trust in God and believe in, and live, the gospel of Jesus Christ. She lost a baby, her second child, when he was 8 months old. She always remembered him and, I think, his memory changed the way she mothered her family, giving her a great sense of faith and comfort to know that she could see him and be with him again if she lived and taught her children to live righteously. She gave her all for her family, and in return, they took such good care of her in her later life. Their good lives are, to me, her greatest legacy. I am so grateful for her example, her courage, and her faith. Knowing her has made me want to be a better, stronger, more deliberate mother, in memory of Grandma Fern.

I love you, Grandma.