Grandma Stock

My Grandma Stock passed away earlier today. A day we all knew was coming, for decades I suppose, yet it feels very surreal to start thinking of her in the past tense. She was a constant, an ever present entity. She persisted through lifetimes.

Grandma Stock, known as Marian to those who weren’t fortunate enough to be her descendant, lived over 100 years. I asked ChatGPT this morning how many days of life she had, and it calculated 36,782 days. Which hardly seems like enough, when you put it in that context, for anyone.

She lived in a retirement home for the last several years and only spent her last few hours in a hospital. She was proud and stubborn and fiercely independent and we’re all so grateful to everyone who helped keep her well over the last few years, allowing her to stay in her own little apartment for the rest of her days. And while she aged, and hunched over, and started losing her hair, and sometimes even a bit of memory, she was more often still just as sharp as always, and forever tuned in to her family’s lives.

When I’d visit her there, she’d take me around to meet all the other folks, who all knew of me from Grandma’s stories. And then she’d take us up to her apartment. She’d need to find a snack for us, some candy or chips or nuts (which sometimes had been sitting out for weeks but we’d always smile and pretend they were delicious). And she’d tell us where the brandy was, so we could pour one for her too. We’d talk about what I’d been up too, and who had stopped in to visit her lately, and how much she’d won at her last card game. We’d talk about the weather and how the season was so far. She’d sit in her chair, with her walker in front of her for stability to get in recent years (oh how many times the poor lady fell during the nighttime hours and smashed herself up). Beside her chair was always a calendar, and address book, and pieces of paper, usually something recycled like an envelope, scribbled with notes. And there’d be a book or a newspaper there. When it was time to leave, she could never ever let you go without something to take with you. Whether a gift she had purchased specifically for you and she had tucked away in a drawer for your next visit, or if she hadn’t been out, as has been the case mostly since covid, she’d gift you something she cherished, because you were never to leave empty handed.

When I was young, I thought of her a cold, strict Grandma, certainly not my favourite grandparent if I had to choose. I knew I could curl up on my Grandpa and sleep on him in his recliner. But Grandma was somehow not as cuddly and warm. I remembered running to Grandma to show her my new doll, and instead of grasping it in an embrace, she just let it fall to the floor and asked “What am I supposed to do with it?”.

It wasn’t until I started spending more time with Grandma as an adult that I would come to understand and appreciate her, and she grew into such a loving, caring, warm, wonderful presence in my life. She lost her husband, my Grandpa, back in 1990 and she assumed she would follow quickly after. But that isn’t what happened. She blossomed. She learned to live alone, to get her own apartment, to tend to her own needs. Although she never did take to driving a car (a relief to many!)

She worked as a teacher, married my Grandpa, and had 5 children. One died young, and her husband had a period of illness and was unable to work one year. She had to return to teaching, raise her children, cook all the meals, and clean the house. Fortunately Grandpa returned to work, and she diligently packed him a lunch every day. I remember his metal lunch box, and her making his sandwich and wrapping it in wax paper to put inside. She worked her absolute tail off.

She was my city Grandma, really the only city presence in my life when I was young. While both her and Grandpa were farm-raised like the rest of us, they moved into the city to raise their family. And that life had some differences. They had a paved driveway! Curbs! And a fenced little yard! These weren’t things I had any other exposure to. And she’d take us for walks around the city on the cement sidewalks. And the wildest of all the city experiences, she used margarine. Margarine! She stirred margarine into our kraft dinner! And her rice krispie squares had it too, and tasted so different! This was always a weird thing for us dairy farm kids who only ever had butter.

I was her first grandchild. (For many years I’ve signed my cards “#1” to remind her of my importance 😉 ) When I was very little, they purchased a cottage on the Bruce Peninsula, a place to spend their summers, and hopefully their retirement years. Unfortunately, Grandpa died shortly after he retired, and they didn’t have all those retirement years to enjoy it together, just weekends and vacations around Grandpa’s work.

While I used to think of the cottage as an excellent place for relaxation, after reading the cottage diaries Grandma kept (which are part of a secret family project I’ve been working on for years), it really wasn’t a place of relaxation for her, although I don’t imagine she ever complained. She now had two places to clean. I don’t think anyone of my generation understands how much cleaning a proper woman born of the 1920’s would do. Clean the floor, the walls, the drapes, the windows, the bed coverings. Vacuum. Vacuum again, because the old vacuums were always terrible. Sweep the veranda. Things I may clean a few times in a lifetime were a regular occurrence. She worked herself to the bone to make a good life for her husband and family.

She was a devoted walker. I imagine that was her special solo time after cleaning and cooking and keeping her family well. We could rarely keep up with her on her walks. She’d take these super long walks all over the place at the cottage, stopping to check on neighbours along the way. That is a trait sorely lacking in us youngsters. That cottage community was all about checking up on each other, getting together to play cards, and helping each other out.

I’d get to spend a week or two with Grandma at the cottage every summer as a kid. Sometimes Grandpa too, but sometimes he was back in the city working shift work. I just never really thought of Grandma as “fun” back then. She was pretty strict, a devout Catholic, and was often assigning us chores (like sweep the veranda). (She used words like veranda and chesterfield that I’d never hear anywhere else.) After our assigned chores, she would want us to disappear for an hour in the afternoon, to go have quiet time. But she’d let us read from her stack of Harlequin romances as long as we were quiet. In the evenings, if Grandpa was around to drive her, we could tag along to play bingo in Stokes Bay or Lions Head! And she’d walk us to the beach, and then sit under a tree and read while we played. She loved to read. Then in the evenings, some friends or neighbours or relatives would come by, and the card games would start, and the hockey or baseball game would be on the old little tv tuned in via bunny ears in the corner. These were wonderful, happy times.

It was no doubt the teacher in her that insisted we learn math, and she did that with Yahtzee. We played a lot of cards with our grandparents, and also Yahtzee, and she didn’t care if you were 3 or 13, you were adding up your own Yahtzee score sheet!

She’d play Uno with us, Skip-Bo, Euchre, and then in the last 20 years, we’d play this ridiculously long game of rummy that used two decks of cards. I can remember the snacks she’d put out, the little bowls of nuts or chips or bits & bites, and she’d make sure everyone had a drink.

She perfected the art of so many things we don’t value in the same way today. She was a great hostess, she knew all her neighbours, she wrote letters to everyone, even until she was 100 when the letters were sometimes just cards because it was getting harder to sit and write, but even then there was always an antidote or two she’d write inside. (Oh that handwriting! Almost always in cursive, and so distinct, you’d recognize the writing in an instant!) She’d collect the cards she had received from others and letters and share them with people who stopped by so they could read all the news too. She was part of every birthday, every anniversary, every family event. Every wedding was an occasion for a new dress.

And oh the recycling! That generation found another use for everything! Milk bags were reused, cardboard packaging, every twist tie. Even the front of a Christmas card could be saved and she could write again on the back.

In later years, after Grandpa passed, I saw that she actually was fun and a joy to spend time with. I remember stopping in at the cottage as she was packing it up for the last time. I had my first dog, Winger, a golden retriever, and I was prepared to tie him up outside while I visited. And she said no, bring him in! And I almost keeled over. A dog inside!? What about his hair I asked? He sheds a lot! She said, I already sold it, what do I care!?

When I was living in Nova Scotia, she came out to PEI with her son, my uncle, for a few years in the spring to open his summer place. I’d head over for a weekend and the three of us would go to a fashion show held at a nearby art gallery, have some drinks, and then Grandma and I would spend a couple days just driving around and exploring, shopping and dining. We had so many good talks during those times, and I learned so much more about why she was the way she was, and her life experiences. I will always treasure that insight.

I’m so grateful she had all those years after Grandpa passed. Not as a slight to him, but an opportunity for her to truly grow into herself. She moved cities and would walk across the city to visit her sister. She’d have a grocery basket on wheels to do her own shopping. She joined vacations with her children. She’d come and visit me anywhere I lived. She met Jeff so early on in our relationship. He joined us in the hotel room Grandma and Mom were staying in while visiting me in the Sault, and we all played cards and ate pizza and wings.

She really was fiercely independent, and wanted to do things on her own if she could. That probably contributed to her longevity. Walking, portion control, cards, community, and maybe a small glass of brandy didn’t hurt either.

It already feels terribly lonely knowing she won’t post another letter to me, or call me on the phone to check in, or play another game of cards. But we were all so terrifically lucky to have her always there, looking out for us, checking in on us, and loving us.

Of all the people of her generation to live to 100, I’m really glad it was you Grandma. <3