Helen Marie (Sykes) Swartz
July 25th, 1926 - November 15th, 2011
This past weekend we embarked on a very ambitious trip to see my parents and relatives. Though it seemed half crazy to attempt such a journey with two toddlers and a two-week-old, it turned out to be the best decision we could have made; we got to spend the last few days of my grandmother's life with her before she slipped peacefully from this world to the next on Tuesday morning. She had been suffering from cancer for quite some time, and I could not be more thankful to have spent a few precious last hours with her and know that she had the chance to meet her newest great-grand baby before she died. It was such a gift to sit by her bedside and hold her hand, pray for her and the journey her soul was preparing to make, and thank her for investing herself so completely in my own life during the many years she spent as my grandmother.
I don't think I can possibly honor her properly or recount all of the ways she's touched my life with just a few simple words. There are so many things that have endeared her to me and so many memories that I don't ever want to forget. But capturing even a few of these—and giving others a glimpse in to her wonderful life—helps to paint a picture of the blessing my grandmother was in my life and the lives of so many others.
My grandmother grew up during the Great Depression, the youngest of nine children. Some of the last conversations we had were of her memories from this time. She described her father taking in strangers and feeding them for weeks at a time, even though there was barely enough for her own family. "I would sit at the dinner table and look longingly at the last piece of meat. But I knew that I was so little, and that my brother needed it more than I did because he was so much bigger than me," she would tell me. Talk about putting sacrifice into perspective.
She met my grandfather as a young teen and would tell me stories of young love and courtship in the 1940s, and how she loved go out with cousins and friends to dance the night away. When my grandfather enlisted in the Navy during World War II, she waited four agonizing years for his return. (And we think a 12-month separation for deployment is bad). Once he returned safely, they married and my grandma devoted herself to raising four children and travelling the globe with my grandfather (who spoke four languages) as he made his way up the corporate ladder in international trade.
My first memory of Grandmom, as we called her, was visiting me as a young girl when we lived in Vicenza, Italy. Together we toured the sites, climbing to the top of the dome at the Vatican, walking around the Coliseum, climbing the tower of Pisa, and chasing the pigeons in St. Mark's Square in Venice. She called me her 'doll baby' exceedingly often, and I always was a bit confused as a kid when she exclaimed, “I could just eat you up!”
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First line of defense against unwanted
paparazzi: sticking out her tongue |
When we moved back to the U.S., my fondest memories consisted of holidays at Grandmom's house and summer vacations together at the beach. From one visit to the next we'd look forward to her feast of beef brisket, rice, and green beans, not to mention the multitude of cookies and candy that we could get away with eating at her house. The grandmother I knew was always full of spunk and mischief. While sitting around the big dining room table for meals, she was known for pretending to sneeze green peas into her hand or looking at us and sticking out a tongue full of food when no one else was looking, but denying any mischief whenever we protested. (At restaurants she would substitute an accordion-folded straw wrapper for the peas during the 'sneeze'). After big family meals the board games would come out, and the teams of girls vs. guys would form; whether it was Charades, Pictionary, or Dominos, Grandmom was unflinching in her enforcement of the rules and usually the loudest when it came to heckling the men folk. As recently as this past Mother’s Day, well into her battle with cancer, she joined in on multiple hands of Dominos as ruthlessly as ever. Always a card shark, she could be found daily at the kitchen table playing solitaire while watching Wheel of Fortune or The Price is Right. She taught us early on how to play every card game under the sun, and had no mercy even when playing against a five-year-old. Thanks to Grandmom, my brother was a Rummy master before the first grade.
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Donning a toilet paper dress
at my bridal shower |
Grandmom had quite the soft side to her too, never missing the chance to be there for us during birthdays, concerts, or any remotely important event…even sitting through my five-hour gymnastics meets with her bad back to support me. And she catered to us at absolutely every opportunity. Once when visiting her house my brother asked for some of Cream of Wheat for breakfast. He liked that she made it with white sugar (as opposed to brown sugar like our mom did) and asked for more. Five times. And each time, she heated up the stove and made my brother more, laughing and asking incredulously how he could eat six bowls of the stuff. Once I became a tween who loved shopping, she selflessly sacrificed her time and sanity, allowing me to drag her to every store in the mall and then some. And when my brother jokingly decided to re-designate her as “Granny,” she rolled with the punches; we’ve called her Granny ever since.
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She and Peter's grandma made quite
the pair, getting lost while
taking the gifts up at our wedding |
A convert to the Catholicism, Granny also had a unique perspective on her faith that I came to appreciate in recent years. She wasn’t extremely outspoken about it, but when she shared about her faith experiences and her conversion, they were some of the most fascinating conversations I had with her. And some of my favorite one-on-one times with Granny were the days we would drive in to the city, just the two of us, and attend her Novena at the Chapel of the Miraculous Medal. We sat in the very front row during the service, and afterwards we went to the little gift shop where she allowed me to pick something out. As I’ve gotten older and become more mature in my own faith journey, her quiet example becomes increasingly more significant.
Though I said my goodbyes this past Monday with a heavy heart and my fair share of tears, I know that is simply the reaction of the human element. I’m grateful for all of the times my grandma continued to be present without question to support me in life—graduation, West Point banquets and commissioning, my wedding, meeting and visiting my own children—and her presence will be dearly missed in such times. But my spiritual intellect knows that she no longer suffers in human form, and that it's her eternal life which bears the most significance.
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| Commissioning |
Her soul is very much alive as she makes her way to everlasting glory, and though I already desperately miss the grandmother who filled my life with such love and joy, I fully believe in her continued ability to love us from her new place in this world…and the persistent thought in my mind as I held her hand for the last time on Monday was, “I bet it’s going to be absolutely beautiful there, Granny.” Indeed, I have no doubt that the brilliance she’ll encounter is beyond our wildest expectations.
My grandmother lived 85 full and happy years on this earth, and in the few short days I was able to visit this past weekend I was overwhelmed by the number of other friends and relatives—some traveling quite far—who came to see her. I know that if she filled my own life with such complete joy and love, the impact she’s had on thousands of others over the course of 85 years must be compounded exponentially.
And that is truly the beauty of a life fulfilled.
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| Mother's Day 2011 |
