I interacted with many wonderful, kind people this week.
Let me share some of my kind interactions in the adventures of newspapering this week.
Last week a reader with the last name Hagen, an experienced reader in New Richland, stopped into the office to renew her subscription. I didn’t get up from my desk as it was a press day and instead invited her to come back into the newspaper's sanctuary, AKA, my desk area. She handed me her subscription, turned around to leave. Just before she got to the door she stopped, turned around and told me something incredible.
“When you were two years old, I was walking by your house and you ran outside and gave me a hug.” Mrs. Hagen told me I said something and that I was just learning to talk, but she remembered it. I, however, don’t remember what I said that day. Or what she told me I said. However, I do remember some things from the age of two.
In regards to this topic, I remember being a lonely kid. Dad worked a lot and we spent a lot of time with babysitters. My grandmother Millie, Joie Somage (Jane Wagner's mother, Carly Wagner’s grandmother, and also my neighbor growing up) and Karen Reese (now Wobbrock, I think) were my favorite babysitters. My grandma and Grandma Wagner have both since passed on, so I think it’s okay to print my list. I have some unforgettable memories with both of them. The most famous being the time my sister plugged the toilet with an extra large deuce and then blamed me. Joie made me stand in their with a plunger, which I didn’t know what to do with, until the toilet overflowed so much she saw the water coming out of the door. I went home in pink sweatpants that day. (My pants fell victim to the flood.)
Asides aside. My dad worked a lot when we were kids. My cousin Jordan’s dad worked a lot too and I remember as young kids talking about how we missed our dads. Something Mrs. Hagen said brought back all of these memories.
Mrs. Hagen’s comments were incredibly kind and sincere. I’m grateful she stopped, turned around, and shared the memory.
Oh, and Joie’s sweets. And her mandarin oranges. I remember baking and peeling oranges with her. And the little TV in her kitchen. She would let me watch whatever I wanted during TV time. She was really, really kind.
My grandmother was an incredible woman too. It’s coming up on the anniversary of her death, 14 years ago next week.
The following is a little bit of information from her obituary. I was 12 when she died.
“Mildred Roeker Lutgens Martenson
Millie died Sunday, August 22, 2010 at St. Mary's Hospital, Rochester, Minnesota, the result of a severe stroke on August 8, 2010. She was 86 years old.
Millie was born March 19, 1924 at rural Waldorf, Minnesota to Charles and Martha (Mueller) Roeker. She attended church and school in rural Waseca County and was a member of the graduating class of 1938.
She lived about 10 years in Los Angeles, California where she drove a taxi and babysat for Betty White and also had lunch with her many times. However, most of her life she has lived in Waseca County, Minnesota.”
I remember her passing well.
Dad told me she had a stroke and was in the hospital. She was unresponsive and I remember Dad talking about whether they should take her off all of the stuff and let her go. I said a prayer that night for Grandma and Dad. I asked God if they could have one more day together for the two of them to just talk.
The next day God answered that prayer. Grandma woke up.
I remember Dad calling me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone sound so excited. “Eli, she woke up! Do you want to talk to her?”
Grandma was in Rochester and I had told my dad I would like to remember Grandma as she was, so I had declined his invitation to go visit prior.
When Dad asked me if I would like to chat on this particular occasion, I also declined. I wanted Grandma to live on in my mind as she always had – my grandmother who I would call and talk to about Twins games every night. The grandma who would slip me $20 bills when my dad wasn’t looking. The grandma who would surprise my brother and me with little Debbie snacks when she came to visit. (For some reason Jessica was always in another room when Grandma would pull out her treats.)
That was the first loved one I ever remember passing. (Dad was so excited that day, including the doctors, that they were talking about transferring her home. I remember thinking that it was Grandma’s time, even right after that phone call. Later in the week Grandma passed on. I remember praying that Dad would have the strength he needed and that Grandma could go quickly, so it wouldn't draw out Dad’s pain any longer. A day or so after that day of recovery, Grandma passed.)
The funeral shortly followed and I have some strong memories from that. I remember being really confused. Grandma was in heaven. Why was everyone so sad? I was only 12 at the time.
I didn’t understand the mourning process.
I don’t know if anyone really understands the mourning process.
Blain Nelson and I had a conversation about this the other day. He told me the mourning process never ends. These people, their memories are always and will always be a part of us.
I’m very grateful for friends like Blain, readers like Mrs. Hagen, and family like Nathan, Jessica, my dad, my mom, and my Grandma.
Oh, and I can’t forget my favorite babysitter Karen, whom I still see from time to time. She never lets her siblings forget that she was my favorite babysitter. (My favorite cousin, Taya, married my best friend, Bryant Reese, Karen’s younger brother.)
“He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow