West Window

I was fortunate to have had four loving grandparents.  Today is the 102nd anniversary of the birth of my paternal grandmother, Florence Magdalen Henningfeld Jacobson.  Gifted with the opportunity to reflect on her life with family and friends at her funeral in September 2008, I am writing down here what was said aloud on that day: “I will continue to discover with joy the ways that Grandma has blessed my life, and will pass that living memory along to others.”  

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One of my most vivid childhood memories is standing next to Grandma, looking out the open window of her bedroom on the farm.  I would find her there just watching quietly– gazing out toward the west, across the big garden and the back woods, over the fields of other farms and farther out to the horizon. I often wondered what she was doing, what she was looking for.  At the time it seemed like she stood there for a very long time, but as I look back now I think it was probably a stolen moment in a busy day. I would stand there too, not really knowing what we were waiting for, but just happy to be in her presence.

Those “window moments” were even more satisfying if there were clouds rolling in.  I might have been more afraid if she had not always said, “Grandma loves a good thunderstorm.” I have reflected on that window gazing over the years in the context of her favorite song:

            I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder.

            Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

It always seemed that Grandma was waiting for something as she gazed out that window.  I believe she was waiting for God.  A woman of great faith, she sought God not only within the walls of her beloved church, but in everything and everyone around her.

When I speak about Florence Magdalen Henningfeld Jacobson as Grandma, it is more than just a title for my own relationship with her.  She had many rich relationships throughout her life as daughter, sister, mother, cousin, aunt, neighbor, and friend. Yet “Grandma” is a role she came to embrace in her elder years, not just as the grandmother of her children’s children, but as matriarch and caretaker of her entire family.  She was called “Grandma” by those who cared for her with dignity in her final years.  She even referred to herself as “Grandma,” such as “Grandma loves you, sweetheart,” or “Grandma won 50 cents off the old-timers playing sheepshead this week.” 

The title of Grandma was something she had earned, and she was proud of it. Life had not always been easy, but she wore the wisdom of her struggles with humility and grace.  Caring for others became a central theme of her life.  The oldest of eight, she cared for her younger brothers and sisters as children and continued to care about them deeply throughout their lives.  She loved and cared for her husband, supporting Grandpa through his years of illness.  She treasured her children and their spouses and showered her grandchildren with affection.  To be on the receiving end of a “Grandma Hug” was to have your breath quite literally taken away.  Her caring nature extended out to her church family and her community. This was especially evident in her many years proudly spent as a Pink Lady at Burlington Hospital, where she relished the opportunity to provide some support and comfort to patients and their families.

In Grandma’s presence, you were loved and accepted unconditionally.  That is not to say that she was always in agreement with your opinions or your actions.  She might disagree strongly, but in the end respected each person’s uniqueness and independence.  However, that person would likely be the recipient of an extra decade or two of her daily rosary.  She held each of us in prayer through the joys and sorrows of our lives and of her own.  The laughter and the tears of her family were sacred to her.

Grandma was a personal example to me that a woman can combine the best of nurturing kindness with the ability to be in charge.  She could ride a tractor and drive a truck alongside the guys, but kept Wind Song on the dresser and high heels in the closet (which she wore well into her 80’s).  She astutely conducted the business of the farm, then put on an apron and was the queen of her kitchen.  She could crochet and stitch the most delicate handiwork, while simultaneously giving the Packers a verbal lashing.  She even could command the respect of her beloved pets with a sharply spoken word—and a well-placed fly swatter.

Grandma’s life was simple, but not simplistic.  She thought deeply about things, and constantly surprised me with her insights and her open-mindedness.  Conversation could range from the relative merits of the local fish fries to the nature of suffering in the world.  Over the years I sought her advice on how to make a decent cucumber salad as well as how to find a decent man.  She would listen intently to the stories of our life’s travels and ask questions with genuine interest.  With an open heart and an open mind she also embraced our spouses and children as family, no matter the cultural or ethnic background. I honor her memory as a woman who was firmly rooted and forward thinking.

Grandma lived life close to the land and attuned to the seasons. It seems right that she answered the call to come home now, in the season of harvest and re-seeding and gratitude. These are the days of letting go and preparing for rest.  I know that Grandma has found the rest that she sought and the God that she waited for.  I will continue to discover with joy the ways that Grandma has blessed my life, and will pass that living memory along to others.  And each time I pause at the window of my own life to listen for God, maybe I will hear her singing, too—and then proclaim, “My God, how great thou art!”