Never Enough
Time passes so quickly. Almost 8 years ago I drove two hours from my home in order to sit down with my Grandma Sue and capture her stories on camera. Just a few weeks ago, I would have told you it was only four or five years ago. But almost a decade has passed.
Trying to find files from 8 years ago was its own challenge, especially when you aren’t sure of the year, and even more as you have a 3-year-old climbing on your shoulders and in your lap.
With the help of my husband, I carved out some time to sit down and sift through rows of hard drives. The evening before would be my last time to see my grandma alive.
Just sitting down to the computer, with some calming music on, I receive a text from my mom: “I really savor the thought that you recorded her stories. I have missed her voice for three years.”
Dang. The pressure was deep to find those video files.
In January 2014, we set up two dates two weeks apart. Two hours each session. We were going to continue beyond that, but I was entering the third trimester of my first child and well, I broke my leg. A lot shifted in my life at that point, a much different third trimester than expected, everything taking more time. And then I became a mom. That was its own new adventure, struggle and juggle.
Five years later, and three kids birthed from me, my grandma was diagnosed with throat cancer. Her vocal cords were removed. She worked hard to learn to speak through new breathing techniques and she truly was amazing; determined to fight for life. To still communicate was a gift and a miracle, but her words weren’t as effortless as they once were. Her stories and teachings couldn’t flow easily and took greater patience for her and her listeners.
We never continued the interviews and we never sorted through the many photos she mentioned to me.
She left this world on Saturday, November 27. An avid football fan, she watched 30 minutes of the OSU-OU Bedlam game with one eye squinted open to see the big screen tv. Lying in a hospital bed, next to the fireplace in her living room, the tumor on her lung took over her body. I imagine she finally said, “Forget this, I can’t see anything, I’m going to the game” and let her spirit go free.
I find it fitting that she left this world on the last day of the liturgical calendar’s ordinary time. And we woke up to Advent, a season of anticipation. A season reflecting our hope for all things to be restored, for all that is broken to be renewed, our hope to join with her and all our loved ones again; to dine, dance, and sing.
I spent that weekend watching her tell stories through the videos captured 8 years ago. Yes, I found them. In fact, I ended up finding multiple copies I had spread across drives for safety. And now, it is all much more organized. Hopefully in 8 more years that organization is still sound.
Her stories are priceless. Dating back to the 1800’s as she tells of my Great Great Grandparents, moving from Tennessee to Oklahoma and starting a cotton gin with their thirteen children. My Great Grandparents surviving and even thriving through the Great Depression, and towards the end, buying the “finest house in Tulsa” for $5,000. More tales of my Grandma living through war times and meeting lifelong friends at army bases across the country in her young married years.
I could listen to hours more. I ache to ask more questions.
There are things I missed. Maybe I was distracted while she spoke. Maybe I was watching the camera or audio levels, or just trying to stay comfortable at almost 30 weeks pregnant. I am thankful for what we do have, and it is bountiful. It’s just never enough, is it?
The other priceless piece from those videos: capturing her mannerisms. I hadn’t thought of that detail, until I watched the videos so closely on her final day of this life. The way she flicked her thumbnails back and forth as she talked, always with her well-manicured nails, of course.
The way she would continuously slide her hands across the tablecloth, as if pressing it smooth. Or with a napkin, she would fold and press, fold and press. It made me think of her mom, my Great Grandmother, with her taste for the finer things and precision. My Grandma Sue was always a delighted hostess, and thoughtful in the details. I wondered if this habit while she spoke stemmed from her youth.
She also leaned deeply over the table to tell the story, drawing closer to the listener. I couldn’t keep the lens in focus because she would be so animated in her movements backwards and forwards. But that nuance of her personality, her way of telling stories, it was captured. And I feel so fortunate to have it.
As I prepared for her funeral, I was determined to do something with all this amazing footage we had of her. It all came so fast, and it didn’t feel like I really had time to do it justice. But I grabbed some clips from my Grandpa Raymond’s old films, and some stories that reflected Grandma Sue’s life and personality and mixed them together. No music, just the natural sound of the old clicking film and their voices.
Many, many years ago, my Grandpa Raymond recorded on VHS the 1950s projected films while he narrated the scenes. So, as I compiled his videos with her interview, they take turns telling stories. It became more beautiful than I expected, more precious than I had planned. Their voices together again.
And that’s where they get to be now, together again, restored and renewed with Jesus.
It is a deep void to lose the final connection to that generation in our family. I am so thankful my kids each have active memories connecting to her, even my youngest. And I hope her stories, captured on film, inspire more laughter around the table, more learning from the past and growth into the future, and a continued tradition of story.