This is written in loving memory of my grandmother, Letha Mildred Buchanan Turner, who passed away August 3, 2013. I read this at her memorial.
My Grandma’s Hands
When she would grab my hand and say let’s go, I knew something fun was about to happen. It would be one of two things: walking to the 7-Eleven where the candy aisle to a 4 foot tall kid was a cornucopia of sweet, chocolately, tarty, soury deliciousness depending on my choices that day or it was a longer walk to the local grocery store in which my choices of “what will delight Michelle today” would boggle my mind during the entire walk there. I remember one of my choices, with the coaxing of my grandma, was to try yogurt for the first time. To this day, it saddens me that the store no longer carries their store brand of Boysenberry (what the heck is a boysenberry anyway?)
Of course, there were the occasional car trips in her tan Monte Carlo to doctor appointments, department stores, visiting great-Grandma or being picked up from school (which was always a special treat). Even then, I would notice my grandma’s hands and how she would cross her middle over her index finger every time she was in the car. I had finally asked her why she would do that. She would say that it was her way of wishing and praying that we would all return home safely. With her answer, I got the first glimpse into how the retention of hand-me-down wives tales molded her actions and that I was the next generational recipient of such superstitions.
The memory of my grandmother’s hands are not always pleasant. Being the ever precocious child, my mouth would get me into more trouble than I care to admit (yes, I realize that not much has changed). Many a time, I remember grandma’s hands popping me for a deed done wrong or a finger pointed towards the back door, indicating that I was to go out to the backyard to find a whippin’ switch. A request that I thought was very bizarre but followed through with because I was being taught to obey my elders. From my recollections, I suppose this ritual was effective since the bush from whence the requested switch was to be broken from was never bare.
However, my mind’s history files are filled to overflowing with more beautiful things my grandma’s hands were a part of than negative. Proverbs 10: 4 says that idle hands make one poor, but diligent hands bring riches. While many things my grandmother dabbled in brought her money, the riches she actually received was the delight her creativity and compassion would give to others. I cannot remember her hands ever being idle. Even when we would lay down to “rest”, her hands would hold mine or stroke my arm or face. It was a tactic she had discovered that would guide me to fall asleep quicker. As I got older, I had wised up to this unspoken sneaky trick and would move around and stare at her closed eyes, asking her if she was asleep and she would reply that she was just resting her eyes.
Her crafty ambitions as a stay-at-home wife drove my grandfather crazy with money flying out the door for silk flowers, foam pieces, ceramic statues, acrylic paints, brushes, yarn, crochet needles and anything else that was a necessity for her particular passion at the moment. In the end, her final creations were cherished among many friends and family members and will be for years after. Many weddings flowers, table center pieces and decorations were blessed with a touch of Letha. Afghans and sweater sets would warm the recipients just like a hug from its creator. Ceramic lamps, wall hangings, mugs and nativity sets lovingly painted with skill and minute detail would eventually become cherished family heirlooms passed down with sweet stories attached to each one.
Grandma’s hands were also healing. Many a time, I remember her nursing a fever of mine or applying some type of home remedy to a family member’s aliment. Brake fluid on back aches??? Really??? I remember personally the times that she would take care of me after my ear surgeries, how she would tell me to massage certain places to rid of aches and pains. Her hands helped my baby sister in a health crisis with massage and opening up her tear duct. Shoot!! She even nursed two wild birds back to health.
I loved it when her hands would be a part of her teachings. Watching her cook food for her family, make my grandfather lunch, baking delicious desserts. She would show me how to do things but also involve and encourage me to copy the things she was doing. One of my favorite memories of her hands was her teaching me how to take care of my newborn son. When Mom had to go back to work, she stayed with me and showed me how to give Ryan his first bath, changing diapers and feedings.
As I’ve taken this time to remember her, her life and how it has intertwined with mine, I have realized just how much her hands aided and protected me. It was rare that I was ever without her support in some form or fashion. I hope, that in her last days, she felt the same from the hands of her family. That we were finally able to reciprocate all that her hands have done as her hand went of from holding onto ours to holding onto Jesus’.
