Lately I’ve been remembering my grandfather. Four years ago, today, he passed away. I’ve been having so many dreams about him and they’ve been bringing back memories. That’s us, above.
If you would ask someone to describe my grandpa, they would say things like:  “He had a strong presence.” “More integrity than anyone I’d ever known.” “He was a leader.” “He had a strong moral code.” “He was someone you would automatically respect, even if you didn’t know why.” And if you knew him, you would nod in agreement and would absolutely know what they meant.
He was a sibling of ten and a father of  four. He was a high school U.S. History teacher and a basketball coach, while my grandma was a stay at home mom. He grew up on a farm and continued to work there when he had summers off at school. I still laugh when my mom and uncles tell stories about going out in the summers with him to help on the farm. You’d think picking beans was some sort of torture.

I remember riding in the car with my Grandma and Grandpa Jensen, when my sister and I were little. My grandpa would be driving. My grandma in the passenger seat. My sister and I in the back. I remember the way my grandpa would whistle and the way he would sing. I still remember the way their car smelled, always the same, even though the actual car varied over the years. My grandma would think of games to entertain us.
I remember the way my grandpa would squeeze my shoulder and rub my back, and how I later realized he was telling me he loved me every time he did that.
I remember going to the park with them, walking through the forest on their favorite trail. Keeping an eye out, all the while, for “Blackey”, their favorite all-black squirrel that lived there. We went on many outdoor walks with them. Sometimes my grandma would give us each a tiny bag for collecting our “nature treasures.” I remember a few parks where my grandma, a bird lover, would clean out the birdhouses, so the birds would make nests in them again. My grandpa was so very tall and his strides were long, so you had to walk fast to keep up.
I remember the summer visits up to the lake, a family tradition since my mom was a girl. My great-grandpa, my grandpa, and my uncles, would all head out early to go fishing. I remember watching them filet the fish when they came back. I thought it was mighty stinky, but I sure did enjoy every scrumptious bite when they prepared them on the grill for dinner. I remember the cabin we stayed in, how we washed our hair in the lake, the forts we built in the trees and the exploring we did with cousins. I remember the loud ruckus card games (“mangey goat eye” was something you did not want to be called) and the large meals.
I remember the Jensen Family reunions on the family farm where my grandfather and great-grandfather had grown up. It was hard to imagine I could be related to so many people. There were lots of pigs there and I felt like plugging my nose the whole time. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live on a farm. Funny, I decided I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up (just not on a farm with a lot of pigs.)
I remember the few times I saw my grandpa in the hospital and how scary it was to see someone who was so incredibly strong, seem so weak and vulnerable.

But mostly…

My memories are from their home. Their white house with black shutters, on a street with large trees. With a slope in the back just right for sledding. I remember my grandma’s garden and the joy she had in taking us around the yard to see her flowers. Her bird baths were always kept so clean. As was the house.
I remember leaving our shoes in the “breezeway,” then being greeted with hugs. I remember cozy flames in the fireplace during the winter, the smells from the kitchen, and seeing all the food set out for us to dish up, during family gatherings. I can still see my grandpa at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes, while my grandma stirred something bubbling on the stove. I can still taste the sweet corn from the family farm and the gravy my grandma made for the mashed potatoes. I remember the beef roast, the bread with her homemade rhubarb jam and the lacy, white tablecloth. The birdfeeders hung in the window, so we could watch the birds from the dining room table, amongst many heaping plates of food and loud conversations. Sometimes mealtimes were followed by games, mostly cards.
I remember when my sister and I would have sleepovers there. When we woke up in the morning, my grandpa would make us pancakes, while we sat in the kitchen watching everything he did. He’d make us sausages too. My grandma would set the table so pretty, you’d swear it was for a fairy banquet.
I remember their mug collection, on the shelves in their kitchen. Every time my grandma made us tea, she would ask us to pick out which mug we wanted, which was very exciting and always made us feel special. We got to know them all over the years and went through phases of different favorites. And sometimes it got even more exciting than well-loved mugs. On special occasions, we got to drink out of the pretty “princess” glasses and we felt like princesses indeed.
I remember playing games with the cousins in the basement- hide-and-go-seek and tag. I remember the shaggy carpet. I remember my grandpa and uncles watching baseball games down there. I remember snuggling up with a blanket and watching a movie, while eating my grandma’s homemade pizza (yes, the very best pizza in the world.)
I remember Thanksgiving with turkey and my grandma’s homemade squash pie. With my uncle singing ‘na na na FAT MAN’ (to the bat man theme song) after lovingly cradling his belly and going back for his third plate.
I remember Christmas with the handmade stockings, the same well known and beloved decorations, and the uncles always having grand surprises up their sleeves, knowing how to excite the crowd. Those ginger snaps were the best. And who could forget the excitement of finding the nut in your rice pudding and getting the “nut gift”?
I remember birthdays with a cake made by my grandma each and every year. I remember handmade dresses, quilts, and sweaters, also lovingly made by her.
I remember every time I would leave their house, writing a little note for them on the notepad on their breezeway, needing “just a minute more” so I could finish up what I had to say. It became a tradition. I later found out my grandma kept those. I can’t even imagine how many there were.

My grandfather was the rock of the family,  the very roots and foundation felt shaken after his passing. I had already moved away to Oregon, so it was different for me than the rest of the family, with the distance. My grandma flew me out to Iowa so I could see him right before he passed away. I am forever grateful for that time. He was in pain and sleeping most of the time, but just getting to be near him was precious to me. When I left, I knew it wouldn’t be long. They didn’t think he would make it until their 50th wedding anniversary, so they celebrated it a little early, knowing they’d dated for that long anyway. I was back in Oregon when he passed away and wasn’t at the funeral. The next time I came back to Iowa, he was gone. It felt strange without him there.
I don’t remember having any deep conversations with my grandpa. I had always felt closest to my grandma. When I visited, I mostly spent time with the women or cousins. And yet, my grandpa’s presence was a profound gift in my life. I admired him. I looked to him for characteristics I wanted to grow in myself. I was influenced by him. And I never knew how much I appreciated him until he passed away.

I’ve told Jeff about my grandfather many times. Recently I was telling Jeff about their house and surprised myself when I started tearing up.
You see, the house is up for sale. I didn’t know I felt so sentimental about it, until it was time for me to let go. My mom and uncles grew up in that house. When I was growing up, we moved. The one constant “place” for my entire life was my grandma and grandpa’s house. It felt like a place of retreat for me, all my life. A place I felt safe. A place I felt comforted and nurtured. For my sister and I, when our life was bumpy or scary or overwhelming, we could always rely on the peace and solace of my grandparent’s home. It represented calm from the storm. Something steady we could always hold on to.

After my grandpa passed away, the house and giant yard became too much for my grandma to keep up. She needed something easier to manage and honestly, I’m sure she needed a change. She found a wonderful community of townhouses located next to a favorite lake, where she could walk every day. She waited until just the right one was for sale and bought it.
It’s fixed up. It’s ready to move in. And now, she waits. She waits for her house to sell so she can start her new life.
It’s funny how I worried about my mom and uncles, how would they take it? Would they be alright to let the house go? Surprisingly, most of them seemed okay about it. I thought I was fine about it too, so I was surprised at the teary emotional response as the time to say goodbye drew closer. I realized how many family members needed to say goodbye to it, so my grandma could sell it and move on.
I remember the last time I visited, I wondered if it would be the last time I would ever see that house. With a lump in my throat, I looked at everything, wanting to remember it all perfectly in my mind. To savor it as long as I could.
Saying goodbye to that house is so bittersweet. That dear place has a special spot in my heart. I can remember just where each piece of furniture is and what adorns each wall. In that home, I gathered inspiration for colorful bits and pieces to weave into my life for my children and grandchildren someday.

And yet, it’s not really the house I will miss, is it? It’s what it represents. That house held so much life from so many years. Saying goodbye to the house feels like saying goodbye to my grandpa and all the wonderful family memories we shared there. Nothing in life stays the same. Maybe I thought that house represented an anchor that would always remain, even though I knew everything changes. What can we hold on to amidst the transitions? There is a gift in the memories that we can wrap around our souls like a warm blanket, that bring us a gentle recollecting smile when we need it most. For that, I am so grateful. We can hold onto that, keeping it close to our hearts.