I found out Friday that my grandmother died. Grandma Kellett. Up until now I’ve been avoiding really exploring the meaning of her death and instead basking in a leisurely weekend in New York. But a return to the rigors of life at Middlebury language school, reminds me what my grandma stood for, even if I didn’t know her all that well.
My grandmother stood for independence and stubbornness. She lived in her house, alone, on Kellett Road in Wisconsin (yes, the road was renamed for her) for as long as my father and his brothers could let her. She worked on the farm. She drove to church. She baked. She loved cats and dogs and cheese. Every August 10, my birthday, I would receive a card with as many one-dollar coins as I was old that year. Pictures from the latest blizzard would arrive periodically.
I remember vaguely attending my Grandpa Kellett’s funeral. I didn’t feel sad then and I don’t feel sad now. But I suppose I should remember Grandma Kellett’s rigor for life, rigor for doing things that just need to be done. And for that I thank her. She may never have read a single blog post, email, or website in her life, but may I remember her here in this post as well as in my thoughts.
Dona Eis Requiem Sempiternam