White Knuckles: Train Whistle Blows for Grandma

By Brendan O'Hallarn Wednesday, December 21, 2011

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As each year clicked past on the calendar, everyone in my family simply grew to assume that my grandmother was indestructible.

She lived in her own house in Hamilton until age 94. She was on her third right hip by the time her daughters moved her out and into a nursing home in Northern Ontario. She packed everything she needed in a few suitcases in about an hour. For seven years, she was the life of the party in her nursing home, a charmer who the staff and all the residents simply adored.

Alas, life caught up with Maud Fuller last Friday. She died early in the morning of December 16, of kidney failure. The phone call from my mom was almost factual, clinical. The entire family had had years to prepare for my grandmother’s passing, so my mom and I spent our few minutes on the phone talking about the logistics of doing a funeral where family comes in from miles away in all directions. Maud passed on the “gift” of logistics to my mom, who passed it on to me.

I’d seen my grandmother only once a year for the last 10 years, so that also made it easier focus on the details of getting a family of four to Ontario just after Christmas.

Then I sat for a while, and my thoughts slowly changed.

Suddenly, I was my five years old again, like my daughter is now, running barefoot across my grandmother’s prickly back lawn. I closed my eyes and imagined the flying leaps I used to take, over juniper bushes onto her front yard. My sister called from England and reminded me how we used to be dropped off around the corner from my grandma’s on our annual summer visits, then we’d knock on the door and tell her “We walked!” and she’d pretend to be fooled every single time.

The rest of the day was melancholy as I flipped through a scrapbook in my mind, recalling a childhood full of memories at my grandma’s house. Maud was the only grandmother I’d ever had, until my mom remarried when I was 16. Her passing was a vivid reminder of time slipping away.

By the time we awoke the next morning, however, my sadness had been replaced by a sense of wonder.

This woman was widowed early, and maintained a home for 40 years on a steelworker’s survivor benefits and Canada Pension. She kept an immaculate home, and cleaned it on the very last day she owned it.

She learned to drive when her husband died, but eventually gave it up because she had so much fun walking or taking the bus to downtown Hamilton. She routinely took the Ontario Northland Railway six hours north to my family’s home for visits, and would exit the station having met everyone on the train.

At an age when many people are in permanent care, she was a full-time caregiver to her younger sister, who lived next door.

It’s truly incredible that my grandma celebrated her 100th birthday last September with her daughters, their husbands, five grandchildren, their partners, seven great-grandchildren and seemingly every other resident of Elliot Lake. It was a joyous celebration, and left my then-four-year-old daughter with durable memories of her great-grandmother.

It was so very sad to finally lose Maud just before Christmas, but in a roundabout way, I’m thankful it happened when it did. It’s been years since I’ve seen my entire family over the holidays, having lived first in Manitoba, then for the past four years in Virginia. We’re planning to make New Year’s special, just like a certain life of the party would have wanted us to.

Too bad we don’t have enough time to take the train.

White Knuckles is a column about life as a busy dad with two very busy kids. Some days, clearly, go more smoothly than others. If you have a story you want to share, a lesson to impart or just want to commiserate, write Brendan at Brendan@wydaily.com. Believe us, he needs all the help he can get. You can also reach him on Twitter at http://twitter.com/#!/White__Knuckles.