On Valentine's Day in 2011, I drove to Cedar Falls, Iowa with my Dad and my husband. We were going to visit my Grandma Tullis in the Care Center. On the way, we stopped at CVS, my favorite store. Why is it my favorite? Well because you get coupons and occasionally “extra bucks.” I am a bargain shopper through and through.
I looked for something I could buy for my grandmother. Now, before you pass judgment on my store choice, please understand I am a spontaneous giver. Five minutes prior to spotting the store sign I had no thought of a gift. Pressure is the secret to my inspiration. So as I walked up and down the candy aisle because sugar is my favorite, I tried to think of something she would like. It had been several months since I last visited Grandma. She still recognized me then, but I wasn’t sure if she still would now. Seeing a little plastic cardinal figurine I smiled and made my purchase.
She always loved cardinals. She often told the story of when she went on a walk one day after my grandfather had died. Grief was almost overwhelming her that bright spring morning. With a heavy heart, she trudged along when she spotted a cardinal perched on a nearby branch. Suddenly she felt peace, that God was taking care of her husband. A hope that she would see him again filled her heart as she looked at the beautiful red feathers against the newly budding leaves. As a result of this encounter, she started taking walks and writing poems to God. These moments in the early morning brought comfort in the midst of grief. Standing in the middle of aisle 3 the plastic cardinal suddenly seemed like a perfect gift.
As we stood outside the facility the air was crisp and our breath billowed in white puffs as my Dad punched in the code. We heard a mechanical sound as the door unlocked to allow us to enter. Inside there were tissue paper hearts hung from the ceiling and elderly people scattered around the lobby. Some were pushed in wheelchairs, others were wondering and talking to themselves.
We found grandma in her room. Dad greeted her first, “Hi Mom, I brought Dianne and Brad to visit you today.”
She was surprised to see us. Like a young child she looked at me happily to make my acquaintance and said, “Dianne you came to see me? Oh and you are beautiful.”
Rising up from her afghan covered bed she took my arm proudly. Her once strong body now bent and frail as she held my hand. Looking up at me as if I was Miss America. We walked slowly to the community room to sit around a table.
Sitting down she looked at us delighted to have visitors. Her hair was disheveled which was unlike the woman I knew growing up. Grandma was always looking her best. To our surprise, my brother David had arrived with his wife. They too sat down at the table. “Grandma,” I said, “I brought you something.” Handing her the cardinal she looked at it with new wonder. “Oh my Dianne, you didn’t have to do that?”
She shifted her gaze from me to David. “David you are so handsome. Did you marry Dianne?”
David smiled and said, “No grandma Dianne is my sister, I married Julie.”
Julie said “hello.”
“Did I go to the wedding?” Grandma asked with strain on her face.
“Yes, you went to the wedding,” he said.
What she could not remember is that David had been on the outs with the family for some time now, and for us to all be sitting around this table was a miracle, a very uncomfortable miracle.
With her, right hand she reached out for mine. With her left hand she grabbed David’s then she said,
“Well it is good that our family gets along, such a lovely family.”
We looked down in shame. Turning to Julie I said, “Julie I am sorry we haven’t got along.”
At the same moment, Dave looked at Dad and said he was sorry. Around that table, as Grandma sat smiling at all of us the walls of unforgiveness began to crumble. She didn’t look fancy like the woman I remembered but she was doing it again, trying to bring her family together.
When I was young I remembered Christmas parties every year at grandma’s house. She gathered all the grandchildren together to teach them about the true Christmas story. Little cousins gathered around the little Charlie Brown tree. With wooden ornaments in hand, we took turns hanging them while she told us about the infant King born to the Jews who came to save the whole world.
Afterward, she would go to the piano and play a Christmas Carol. I can remember the warm inviting smell of her kitchen as we sat down at the extended table to eat together. I remember the holy hush as Grandma said Grace, while cousins peaked at each other through folded hands.
As a teenager, I started to see the weaknesses in her love. I grew angry that sometimes her love seemed like favoritism, and sometimes like control. Eventually, I just had to forgive her and accept her imperfect affection. Then I could smile at the delight my singing gave her and the joy shared in prayer. The sobering reality hit me fresh, time is short. Sadly, her memory of me was even shorter. But as we sat around that table on Valentine’s Day the true heart of Arlene Tullis cut through the disease of dementia.
She cared about her family. She lived for her family, she loved her family in all the broken imperfect ways. Around that table as tears spilled and “Sorry” was whispered, her prayer was answered. Looking on happily she did not understand the depth of the grudge being laid down. She did it again, she gathered her family together.
Three weeks later I got a telephone call that grandma had passed away in her sleep. Once again we gathered as a family to remember the wonder of this energetic, spirited woman. I could almost picture her smiling face holding out her hands to us saying,
“Well, it is good that our family gets along, such a lovely family.”
It has been several years since she passed away, but I think of her more often now than ever. Sometimes I see her as I look in the mirror or play a song on the piano. But it is the cardinal that reminds me she is happily walking on the streets of gold with Jesus now, the One she longed to see. And as I see the beautiful red feathers against the vibrant green leaves, I know that I will see her again.
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