Cherry Pie… and leading by example.
Today is June 13th. It is the birthdate of my mother-in-law Gisele. I know that in some cultures, when a couple separates, that person is no longer considered a mother-in-law, but Gisele, in heaven with my two children, will always be my mother-in-law… she was also the only biological grandmother my children ever knew.
This story is not about me though. It is about Mom. And cherry pie.
When Jarrett was young, as with all of our three children, they would go to Nanna and Grandpa Ralph’s. Mostly for the day – driven to Niagara with Dad on his way to work, then back as he drove home. Sometimes they would spend the night. What a blessing these adoring grandparents were. They would fuss, as only grandparents can, over the most insignificant of things… making every little challenge their own. “He scraped his elbow outside. We put a band-aid on it.” “The kids are growing so fast!... Found this shirt that I think might fit.”
They loved to bathe them, and they loved to feed them. Something about the fresh baby smell that brought out all the love in their hearts. I can recall being there, and often being asked if they could bathe Jarrett before we took him home. “Sure” was my quick response. One less thing to do when we got home and unpacked. They would start the production. The soft table covering would be spread out, covering every inch of the solid dining room table. Then the baby bath unit (tilted seat that held water) would be brought from upstairs in its special place – waiting specifically for such an occasion)… the towels – multiple and soft, were stacked neatly beside. And two or three small, super soft baby facecloths as well as baby shampoo, soap, baby powder, and diaper cream all neatly lined up, commanding authority ready to spring into service.
I wish I had videotaped the process. I recall there was a lot of back and forth commands happening. “Ralph… get more hot water, it’s getting a bit cold”… “Gisele, give him something to hold onto… where did you put the teething toy?!” As they fussed and scrubbed the tiny body in their care. When he was done, they’d dry, and wrap him in a cozy soft blanket to pick up and squeeze more love into, before returning to the (now stripped and replaced with fresh dry cover) tabletop, to diaper and change into pyjamas. I giggle, recalling the times that Gisele would go next door to show the freshly bathed baby to Aunt Barb, who lived next door. They shared a duplex home, and their two back doors literally were two feet apart… with a shared deck. She’d bundle up the baby in blankets, as if going on an arctic expedition, and then, put a baby blanket or oversized towel over her head, with the baby’s, so they wouldn’t get cold in the nano-second they were passing from one door to the next. God I love her for how she cared for our children.
Which brings me to the pie.
As Jarrett got older and grew, she clearly wasn’t bathing him on her kitchen table any longer. But the table got used. For feeding him. One thing they (Mom and Ralph) discovered was that Jarrett loved her cherry pie. They would make it using natural sweeteners since Jarrett didn’t eat refined sugar. It was a treat he cherished.
A memory I have, of Gisele in her final weeks, is when she was still living at home, but waiting for alternative options. Complex health issues meant that her blood pressure was low, and she was at risk of fainting, her oxygen was also low, so she had a long oxygen cord, spiraled from upstairs down the long, carpeted staircase to where she would sit in her living room.
I came in one day, to find her sitting at the stove. Not standing. Sitting. She was perched on a tall stool, in front of the stove. “Mom, what are you doing?” I asked her. “I’m stirring the cherries, to thicken them. I thought I’d make Jarrett a cherry pie.”
“Seriously?” I thought. “You can barely breathe, you can pass out if you stand up, and your only thought is you want to bake a cherry pie for your grandson? “ Classic Gisele.
“Well, he really likes my pie, so I thought it might be nice”. Nice. Good lord. Nice isn’t the word. We took that pie home, and cut it up into pieces, and froze it. Knowing full well, that it might (and turned out to be) the last pie she ever baked.
Jarrett ate the last slice on her birthday a year after she passed. Okay, full disclosure from the person who holds onto things… I may have a tiny sliver still in my freezer, standing sentinel.
So today, I honour grandparents. Who love the second time around, with total abandon. Who don’t have the sleep deprivation and pressure of figuring it all out, just the pure experience of loving this young child, who is of their lineage – be it blood line, through their partner, or gifted in.
And to all those who step beyond their own physical challenges, to do something out of love for others, even though that person may not realize the sacrifice they have baked into their deed, we offer a silent acknowledgement. The energy and love is transferred, and received at levels we may never be able to measure… but is certainly there.
Thank you Gisele, and Ralph. To all grandparents who bathe, feed, and love… for the difference you make.