This year I lost three people who are dear to me. I was not especially intimate with any of them, but each had an impact on my life, and I find myself thinking on that impact frequently in the weeks and months after their passing. In the stillness of their absence, there is something sweet about remembering how their lives intertwined with mine, and allowing them to become larger-than-life. I am grateful for each of them, and wish to honor them by remembering in writing a bit of the fullness they brought to my life. [Disclaimer: I do not believe my memory to be wholly accurate, and I am certain those people closer to these individuals will find errors in my recollections.]

My mom’s mom passed away in January. I always called her Grandma Sawyer, but when I had kids she suggested they call her “Grandma Caroline,” using her first name. She always lived in the same house, from before I was born almost until the end. I didn’t get to visit her in the care facility she was in at the end, so all my memories of her are in that house. She rented out rooms, so I remember having to be quiet when we were in the hallway next to those rooms, and we were not allowed to use the restroom the renters used. We were, however, invited to play in her back yard, which was full of the wonderful fruit trees that grow further south: lemons, oranges, mandarins, kumquats, avocados, and more. There were also a variety of flowers, and a shed that contained board games among other things. My sister and I played out in the yard, making concoctions of plant materials, and skipping about on the stepping stones. We made fresh orange juice in her kitchen, watched shows on her tiny television in the dining room, and always went home with avocados and mandarins to enjoy long after our visit.

Grandma always wore her hair the same way, and I imagine there must be a name for the style, but I don’t know what it is. Just that there was a large curl at the bottom, near chin level, and the rest was smooth but thick. My complete lack of fashion knowledge also makes it impossible to describe her wardrobe with any accuracy, but I remember she always wore the same style of flat comfy shoes, and she often wore blouses. She nearly always had a boyfriend, so when our family descended on her house, she would spend her nights at her boyfriend’s house. My sister and I slept in her room (where my sister got flea bites sleeping on the floor), and my parents would sleep in the family room. We took over the kitchen, making our own meals, as my grandma would not have cooked for us even if she had been there. She ate very simply and basically did not cook or wash dishes, a fact which my mother says was true even when she was raising five children. We often found spoiled food in her fridge, and more than once we found a can of orange juice concentrate in the freezer which had been partially used and left to turn a very dark brown shade of orange. One redeeming feature of her kitchen was the drawer containing dates and nuts. And she always had toasted wheat germ, which I thought was a treat.

Grandma Sawyer liked cats, and for many years she would have one or more cats, but they were usually scarce when we came to visit. I don’t remember her having any toys, but she she lived not far from the ocean, so between that and her back yard we had plenty of fun things to do. There was a bin on her coffee table with scissors and tape and other handy supplies, and her combined living/dining room also held her desk, and a book shelf full of interesting titles like “Eat Right For Your Type.” She was something of a health (read “supplements”) enthusiast, and I remember one drawer in her bathroom contained cups of pills portioned out for each day. I don’t think she was on any prescription, so those large handfuls of pills were all supplements resulting from her own research. She could swallow a whole dose at once, which I found very impressive. She enjoyed travel and learning, and I remember on one visit she told me about the country of Burkina Faso with it’s capitol city of Ouagadougou – I think the primary reason was the joy of those funny sounding words. She didn’t give a lot of gifts, but she did always send a birthday card with money, and I still have a mug she painted with my name on it. She was skilled at beautiful, delicate china painting. She also played the piano, but I don’t think I ever heard her play or saw her paint.

Her memorial was a picnic lunch at a park near the beach, and I think I knew more about her after the brief fifteen minutes of sharing among family members than I did in all my years of knowing her. I enjoyed the descriptions of other family members to round out my memories of grandma: able to converse on any topic; curious; positive, cheerful, joyous, and didn’t speak negatively (or positively) about anyone; loved all kinds of arts; always ended with a chuckle; a feminist; wonderful mother-in-law; original and witty; good mother who was proud of all her kids and grandkids; knew a lot about the natural world, including the names of many plants. I do remember her showing me a gingko tree once when we were on a walk. I think the reason it stuck in my memory is that she told me gingko trees had been around for millions of years, and being from a family of young-earth creationists, I remember thinking she was wrong but keeping silent on the subject. The thing I secretly wished to emulate about my grandma was her ability to dance. She loved to dance, and although I never got to see her dance in public, she did teach me a dance step once, and I’m proud to say I can still do it. She took time to do the things she loved, and although she had strong opinions, she always ended with a chuckle and a twinkle in her eye. I am grateful I got to be her granddaughter.

Not long after my grandma passed away, a neighbor from my childhood also passed away. Her name was Sandra Smith, but we called her Sandy. She and her husband Billy had a surprise daughter later in life who was about my age, named Suzanne. They lived a few miles up the hill from us, where there was no electricity or phone lines, and every so often we would hear their old diesel Mercedes pulling in our driveway so they could make phone calls (we were the last house on that road connected to the phone lines). As far back as I can remember they invited us over for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas dinner every year. Sandy made the entire meal on a wood burning cook stove, and everything was cooked to perfection and served hot. Since my health-conscious family made tofu quiche and vegan pies for holidays, Sandy’s table laden with real turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes (that undoubtedly had butter in them), pistachio salad, yams (which surely had sugar and butter on them), and every other dish you could wish for at a northwest holiday dinner was a highlight every year. After homemade hard ice cream, fresh whipped cream, and too many pies to sample, we would relocate to the living room where we played the old player piano for hours, talked about Billy’s countercultural ideas, and enjoyed the warmth of the wood stove.

The Smiths were a family living in older times. Billy logged and mined gold to make money off his extensive property. He was proud that he didn’t pay Social Security, held strong views about politics, had a moderate collection of firearms, and enjoyed quack medicine like pycnogenol and frequency-generating “zappers.” It was an odd friendship between our families, mainly consisting of those annual feasts together and their visits to use our phone. I think Sandy was the grounding presence in the family. She was practical, intelligent, calm, and her eyes often sparkled. She wore her gray hair pulled up in up a decorative leather piece with a wooden pin through it. She was always kind. When I moved away from home, she extended an invitation to make a turkey dinner for me when I visited home, even if it wasn’t at the holidays. Her generous offer surprised and touched me. I don’t think I ever took her up on it, but I did get to take my husband to dinner at her house at least once, and I’m grateful I was able to share that part of my childhood with him. Sandy passed away rather suddenly, and I miss her kind presence on this earth.

In an expected turn of events a person who had largely shaped my career (if you can call it that at my age) became ill and died, bringing him sharply back into my awareness. I quit work a month shy of seven years ago to become a stay-at-home mom, and soon after my boss, Jerry Mason, retired. We were both in our own new worlds, adjusting to life at home after the workplace, and didn’t keep in touch. But this parting of ways in no way lessens the impact Jerry had on my life during my college and post-college years.

I entered college with a job at the Grounds department, mostly because I got hired over the phone and it was an easy in. At that time the department was undergoing some changes, and Jerry had a vision for student leadership that was emerging at that time. I found myself co-managing the department with a few other students a month after I began working in Grounds. Jerry had a way of entrusting me with responsibility with so much confidence in me that I hardly had the chance to stop and think about whether I could do the job or not. His trust, mentoring, enthusiastic support, and hands-off style gave me the incredible opportunity of managing the Grounds department all four years of college (and being awarded the Washington State Student Employee of the Year award in 2007). By the middle of my sophomore year I was studying for a business degree with a concentration in management, so there was a happy marrying of what I was studying to what I was doing at work. I wrote handbooks, wrote interviews, hired, fired, created schedules, purchased equipment, conducted training, and did everything else the job required with the zest and energy only a college student has. All the while, Jerry proudly cheered on us student leaders, paid us a little more than made sense, stood in our defense when problems arose, challenged us when we were heading the wrong direction, and continued steadfastly in his confidence in my abilities.

After I graduated I worked one year in a clerical position, and then Jerry was standing there in front of my desk handing me a proposal regarding bringing the custodial function of the university back in house. In other words, creating and managing a new department that would be under his direction as Plant Services Manager. Again he was handing me much more than I was qualified for, just as confident as could be, eager to give me the opportunity. And as I took the job and went to work for him again he continued to support me in the same generous ways that he had when I was a student.

Jerry was private and shy and had a strong aversion to parties and most social events. He was a straight shooter and didn’t take excuses; short in stature but still slightly intimidating because after all he did have the power to end my employment. But never once was I worried about calling him or walking into his office. He was always kind, friendly, honest, and the best superior a person could ask for. Over the years, he went out of his way to recognize my work and support me – nominating me for student employee of the year, taking me and other managers out for dinner, providing cell phones when they were still relatively rare, procuring a set of two monitors for me to make desk work easier, encouraging and supporting me in attending Leadership Walla Walla, and no doubt instrumental in my recognition as Rising Staff Member of the Year in 2010. I always felt valued, and knew someone was standing behind me.

After I quit work I asked Jerry for a reference letter, as I knew I would be a stay-at-home mom for a while and I wanted to have something to use as a reference when it became time to return to the work force. He never wrote one, but he did give me his email address when he retired, and we conversed briefly about my desire for a reference letter. His reply in part said, “I am working outdoors a ton this summer. Have an old couple across the street I am keeping their yard up. Fun and it keeps me busy.” I was a little peeved that he couldn’t find the time to write one letter amidst all his yard work, but looking back it really was just like him. He always hated writing reference letters, and I also think he was just ready to be done with work. I chuckle over it now. And besides, he did give me a wonderful reference in the form of those two jobs that shaped my skill set, and the opportunity to work with many wonderful people (who would probably be happy to write me a reference letter).

I cannot think about my college experience or my career without thinking of Jerry. He was human, but the best sort of human you can find, and a person who so quietly had an incredibly large impact on my life. I am grateful for all the ways he believed in me.

As I think about these three people, what stands out is how simple their influence was. None of them gave me advice. None of them spent any great amount of time with me. They just gave to me in their own unassuming way. There is power in simply living your life – the moments you believe in someone else, or invite someone over for a meal, or impart curiosity and cheerfulness by living it out yourself – perhaps those are the moments that someone else will be recalling when you are called Home.