"FROM
SHARON'S HEART"
POETRY
WRITTEN BY:
~SHARON
JEAN BRYANT~
~IN
MEMORY~
~ELMA
MARIE WOODWARD~
MY
GRANDMOTHER
~IN
MEMORY OF MY WONDERFUL GRANDMOTHER~
It was the
winter of '61. I was 15 years old, not old enough to drive.
I was spending some time with my grandmother at her lake place during my
time off from school in Holly, Michigan. Grandpa had died that year
and she lived alone. She was 65 that year.
Grandma was
the type that always reached out and gave to others and that Christmas
was no exception. I watched her knead dough, fire up the oven and
my mouth drooled as cake after cake came out of the oven, tarts, cookies,
cheesecakes, etc. I kept saying, "Who is all this food for gram?"
"Oh, it's a surprise." she replied.
It was Christmas
Eve. A snowstorm had started earlier that morning and the snow was
piling up with a good 12 inches on the ground already. "Go get your
heavy coat, mittens and boots" she said. I pulled them out of the
closet. "Now go in the shed and drag the sled out." "The sled?
What do I need the sled for?" I asked. "Hush, just do as I say."
she replied. I went out in the old tattered shed and dug the old
wooden sled out, the same one my brother and I used to slide down the big
hill on. The same one when one day my cousins came to visit and we
piled 5 of us on the sled then slid down the hill and hit the tree.
Two of us always had crooked teeth after that!
When I got
back inside the house, gram was packing goodies in boxes marking names
on the boxes. I knew then what she was up to. "You're going
to deliver this one to Mrs. Wermouth, and this one goes to Mr. Wayland,
and this one goes to the Snider family." On and one she went.
We brought the sled into the house. Gram tied those boxes with rope
and told me I better get going as the snow was getting deep. I thought
she was nuts to send me out in that storm. But I went......and it
was a day I shall never forget and haven't in all these years.
I pulled the
sled down the country road and the first house was Mrs. Wermouth's.
Her husband had died a couple years before and she lived alone. I
knocked on her door, and when she answered, she smiled and said, "Well
Sharon, Merry Christmas!" "I've got something for you" I told her.
I handed her the box and told her to open it. I saw the tears in
her eyes as she saw the homemade goodies. "Sit down and let's share
a cup of hot chocolate." she said. She had no tree, she had
no family, and I think gram's goody box was her only gift that year.
I got a big Christmas hug when I went to leave telling her I had a lot
of boxes to deliver before dark.
I pulled that
old sled down the road to the next house. House to house. But
something happened that I didn't think about. People were calling
others on the phone telling them what I was doing. And at each house,
I was greeted with smiles, tears and hugs. It took me a few hours
to deliver all those boxes. I about froze to death! I
drank more hot chocolate and ate more cookies and got more hugs that year
than any other in my whole life that night. But I also learned the
meaning of giving and what one box can do for an elderly person living
alone. I saw what it could do to a family who didn't have much.
I saw genuine caring people who appreciated it that an elderly woman down
the road took the time to remember them. I was so proud of my grandma
that year.
Many years
later after gram had passed on, I went back to the old place she once lived
in. Someone was living in the house. I sat in my car gazing
at the old shed which still stood, the old bunkhouse, and the big tree
I used to love to climb as a child. A man came out and asked if he
could help me. I told him no, I was just remembering some good times
when I used to visit my grandma there. He said, "Your name's not
Sharon, is it?" "Yes, how did you know that?" I asked. He told
me lake folks often talked about Mrs. Woodward and her granddaughter Sharon,
who used to help others on the old country road. He asked me
if I wanted to come into the house but I declined. I knew it wasn't
the same. I knew without gram, it just wouldn't be as it once was.
I thanked him for allowing me to sit there remembering. He told me
I was welcome anytime I ever wanted to visit.
I've never
been back since that year. When I get a chance to go to Michigan,
I drive out to the cemetery, 10 miles from the old house. I have
many happy memories of that old place, but as each Christmas rolls around,
I always remember that one in '61. The year gifts from the heart
meant more than one from the pocketbook ever could..........
In memory of
my wonderful grandmother,
Elma Marie
Woodward
7-22-1896
~ 3-20-1974
~©SHARON
JEAN BRYANT~
PLEASE DO
NOT TAKE WITHOUT PERMISSION
SHARE THIS
PAGE
WITH A FRIEND
PLEASE VISIT
SHARON'S WEB SITES
~IN
MEMORY OF ANDREW FRANK DUNBAR~
~AN
ANGEL'S PATH TO HIS MOTHER'S HEART~
~ANGELS
REMEMBERED~
~TANNEHILL
SWEET SHOP~
"IN GOD'S HANDS"
~ANDREW
FRANK DUNBAR~
~GOD'S LITTLEST
ANGELS MEMORIAL SECTION~
~A
TRIBUTE TO ANDY~
~ON THE WINGS
OF ANGELS MEMORIAL SECTION~
~MOM
2~
IN
MEMORY OF
HELEN
JOYCE COOK
|
~THE
CROSS~
IN
MEMORY OF
HIGHWAY
DEATHS
|
~MEMORIES~
|