"For
in the end, we will conserve only what we love
We will love only what we understand
We will understand only what we are taught."
— Baba Dioum
I find this poem particularly appropriate because, fundamentally, I think my
grandmother was a teacher, especially of children.
I have the pleasure of being a parent myself these days, and when I read aloud to my
sons — stories of Babar, Curious George, Dr. Seuss — I read with my
grandmother's voice, her inflection, and — I hope — her warmth.
In introspection, I find this small fact comforting. For it seems to me that perhaps
the best way to remember someone and keep them with us is to express that part of them
which we have made part of us.
Grandma' also taught us to be tough, perhaps in the most difficult way possible, which,
of course, is by example. I remember one summer many years ago — I think I was twelve
— when I was visiting Grandma' Evie and Grandpa' Glenn in Nigeria.
For a few days' diversion, we had decided to voyage by boat through the many connecting
lagoons to a neighboring country for the weekend. Having just gotten started, speeding
along at about twenty knots, we suddenly ran aground on an uncharted sand bar. (The
identity of the pilot conveniently escapes me.)
No sooner had the boat thumped to rest than a horde of African natives began racing
from the shore to our boat. (This was quite a sand bar. Although we were at least fifty
yards from water's edge, the charging throngs were never more than ankle-deep in water.)
A few moments later as we stood on the boat, helpless (I thought), completely
surrounded, my grandfather negotiating with the tribal leaders to get us out of the soup,
my grandmother calmly began passing out pieces of a broken mirror to the many children
around us — children who had never before seen their reflection.
She was tough. It never occurred to her to panic (which she could have easily
accomplished by simply following my example). Rather, she came upon a unique opportunity
to enlighten a group of children sequestered by fate from anything we might term
civilization, and without giving it a thought, she instinctively took advantage of that
opportunity.
Finally — and perhaps most importantly — she taught us to be participants in
life, not spectators. I wonder how many people can say — as I can — that they
were taught how to catch snakes and lizards by watching their grandmother. Too few, I
fear.
If there was a reptile to be caught, you caught it. If there was a garden to be tended,
you tended it (as she got older, without regard for whether or not it was her garden).
Moreover, if there was a wrong to be righted, you righted it. Very simply, if there was
something in the world that needed doing, you did it.
There is no question. She did it.
"To laugh often and love much
To win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children
To earn the approbation of honest critics
To appreciate beauty
To give of one's self
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived —
That is to have succeeded."
— Harry Emerson Fosdick
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 Calibar, Grandma's companion for more than
twenty years, now makes his home in our family room in Coventry, Rhode Island
 Grandma' always loved
Lake Casitas, and we would frequently drive out there for lunch during my visits.
Our last great family reunion with Grandma' was last fall at the Craigs' in Tennessee.
 As the only great-granddaughter,
Kayla Stuart held a special place in Grandma's heart.
 As the first female grandchild, so
did Kerry Palmer.
 Grandma' was a class act.
 On the Sunday following
Grandma's memorial service, it was decided that we would spread Grandma's ashes together
with Grandpa's over the waters of Lake Casitas. We rented two boats in order to
accommodate the whole family.
 As we headed out into the lake,
Ingrid Palmer fashioned from the flowers of Grandma's memorial service a beautiful wreath
and several bouquets.
 We searched the lake, looking for just the right spot and finally found it.
It was easy for us to imagine Grandma' and Grandpa' spending a pleasant afternoon in this
part of the lake, Grandpa' fishing, and Grandma' lending a hand.
 I only hope that when my time comes, my
family puts half as much thought into my final arrangements as these three did for their
parents. I can't put into words how they carried it off. We were simultaneously awed and
comforted; solemn, yet joyful. The rest of us simply followed their lead.
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