Teenaged Auntie Iola and Gram, prepped for a costume party
She has died, my grandmother.
Dorothy Hazel Busby McLaughlin, age 99.
She spent most of her life in near silence, deaf from a simultaneous onslaught of childhood diseases before the age of 10. She endured erroneous assumptions of a lack of intelligence for years, until someone figured out that she simply could not hear. And then it was clear that she was actually ridiculously bright. And she shined bright for decades, a living, breathing example of deity on earth.
All that I hold precious, I learned at my grandmother’s knee. She modeled loving kindness and positive parenting, and served as a model when, in cases of ethical dilemma, I asked myself, “What would Gram do?” An avid reader, Gram taught me the value of literacy as a means to an end. Entertainment, the acquisition of knowledge, and spiritual or personal betterment were all accessible through a book, a pamphlet, a letter, a story. I have always read voraciously. The example and value are deeply ingrained.
With seemingly little effort, but exceptional results, Gram nurtured people, pets and plants. The local overseer for animals feral and domestic, she kept food and water in abundance and offered basic first aid when required. A wise steward to creatures raised as food, she fed them well, sheltered them humanely, and slaughtered them swiftly and carefully. It is from this woman that I learned to garden, to coax sustenance and beauty from the soil. These skills offered relief, release and recompense as I mastered them and eventually wrote books and articles related to gardening and horticulture. She taught me a love of food and cooking and home-keeping, leading directly to the family life I now cherish and enjoy.
Whether or not a Christian, you immediately know the kind of person I imply when I use the description “Christ-like.” Gram was the most non-judgmental, accepting, loving human being I ever encountered. Her strong sense of right and wrong, and her clear and obvious value system, guided her every move, act and decision; yet she never cast aspersions on those who lived life differently. She acknowledged that each of us is a child of God and that her role was to be kind and respectful.
Gram was the safe port in my every childhood storm. If I felt unloved, uncared for, unheard; she loved me, she listened, she cared. I could rely on her. Always. She made clothes, played games, ran in sprinklers, attended sporting events. She read my papers, kept newspaper clippings and wrote to me when we lived apart. She returned my adoration.
In the end, Alzheimer’s beseiged Gram’s mind and released a basic humanness that we had not seen before; but all who knew her realized that the essential Dottie was locked behind the walls of dementia, awaiting an eternal release.
And she finally won it. Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, she is free at last.
