Good-bye

The dimpled smile of our granddaughter Courtney disappeared this week with her violent death. In the midst of processing that horror, I recalled her triumphs through the years. When she was seven, she and her sisters visited and raised the noise level in our empty nest. Some noise we enjoyed; some we dreaded. I offered the girls a reward button for better noise choices made through the day. A few mornings later I picked up a brush to tackle the sleep knots in the child’s long hair. I anticipated her usual yelps at every snarl. They never came.That surprised even Courtney. She said, “I’m not crying.”“You are growing up,” I praised her. She stood a little taller, pleased with herself. When I pulled out the mixer to make cookies, Courtney asked, “What’s that?”“A mixer. Let me show you,” I put sugar and butter in the bowl and pushed the knob. After making cookies, Courtney smiled broadly for a picture holding the plate of cookies she had made. Using a mixer did not prepare her for the sewing machine. She took one look and backed up. “I might get hurt.”“Oh, no. I have sewn a lot and I have never gotten hurt,” I assured her. We pulled out a pre-printed Christmas stocking. I showed her how to use the foot pedal. Her line of stitching veered far to the left.“Oh wait. You need a line to follow,” I said. I marked a stitching line. She finished the stocking and proudly took it home to show her mother.Years later, I asked Courntey if she wanted a used sewing machine. She did. Before I gave it to her, I insisted she practice threading it and sewing. She rethread the machine repeatedly until she knew what to do. “Now try running this fabric through the machine. Follow the striped lines.”She stayed on the line, pulled the fabric out, held it up and showed her friend. “Look,” her face glowed. And rightly so. Learning did not come easily for her, but she did not quit. After high school, she resisted anyone who suggested she sign up for a monthly disability check.“I want to work,” Courtney insisted. She worked at fast food places and factory lines before settling into restocking shelves at a Big Box Store. “She cries. She won’t last very long,” some said.She lasted. She worked the night shift stocking shelves with gallons of milk. With all that lifting she developed a slim healthy physique. After she had worked there for a while, we visited her, “Wow!” I said, admiring her strong, healthy body. She just grinned. Without going to the gym she had gained the body every woman wants.Asserting her independence, Courtney signed papers for her own mobile home. “Come see,” she proudly invited us.She stuck with it. She received a certificate for working five years at the same shop and kept on working. She set aside money in a 401K. “We are so proud of you,” we told her. She dimpled in pleasure.The last time we visited she had encountered financial difficulties. Still she surprised us when she said, “I prayed and God helped me find some money I had forgotten.” Hopeful at her new insight, we asked, “Do you want a Bible? We have several to give away.”“I do. The one I have is torn.” We opened our boxes of used Bibles. She looked at three or four. “This one. I want the large print,” she said and held it close. It’s a good memory as I mourn her untimely, unfair final chapter. I focus on the accomplishments she celebrated, her cute smile and determination. I can’t bring her back, but I can recall these things as we celebrate her life.