By Natalie Platzkoester Pavlak 
We all have those moments from childhood that at the time maybe felt . . . insignificant? That is, until we grew up ourselves. I am 34 years old, but can, as clear as day, recall helping my grandmother walk up the front steps of her home when I was 12. I can feel her thinning skin in my hands, feel the warmth of sunlight reflecting off her glasses, and see the waves of cottonwood flying through the spring air.
Although I was helping her up the stairs, my grandma was still quite young, just in her early 60s. She had become a fragile woman—a fragile cancer patient. I was in sixth grade when my grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time in her life. While she was already a “survivor” from round one, which occurred before I was born, this time was different. This time the cancer had spread to other parts of her body.
As I recall holding her left arm up with my right, our fingers clasped together as she squeezed my hand, we took it slow, and we took it one step at a time. It felt so ironic to me. Grandma’s hands, the same hands that gave me strength to pull up and quite literally learn to walk, now needed my strength in return for the same reason: to simply walk. It was certainly one of my first existential experiences.
My grandmother was dying and while nobody had directly said that to me, I knew it. I felt it. Within a few months of that memory, my grandma had passed. Leaving behind seven children and more than two handfuls of grandchildren.
If she did anything for me, it was displaying graceful strength. While I’m sure she had her days of angst over her situation, looking back now, it is clear that she faithfully accepted death long before it arrived. She still laughed, went to grandkids’ sporting events and dance recitals, hosted Christmas, and more. In the face of death, she chose to live the life she had remaining with strength and a smile. It was in my grandmother’s gracefulness toward both life and death, that I learned how brave and strong of a woman she truly was.
Fast-forward about 20 years, I no longer have a grandma remaining on earth, but I do have my husband’s grandmas, one of whom lives 10 minutes away, and we see each other quite regularly. This particular grandma is in her 90s, but you wouldn’t guess it if you saw her. Everyone is always commenting on how much energy she has.
I’ve often joked that the only other woman I’ve had to worry about is my husband’s grandma. One of the things I’ve admired about him is that even when we were in our 20s and staying out late, finishing college, starting careers, he would make time to cut her grass and just sit to visit with her two or three times a month. He still does this. We are about to bring our third child into the world, but a few days a month, I know he will be two or three hours late after work, not because he’s out for drinks with co-workers, but because he’s helping grandma. She almost always sends him home with snacks for our girls and a casserole for our dinner. God love the woman.
Recently my husband took his grandma for a road trip to Wisconsin where she grew up. I kept saying it sounded like a good plot for a comedy: 33-year-old man road trips with his 93-year-old grandma to her Midwestern hometown to pick up her childhood bed to give to his own daughter, meets quirky relatives along the way. I’d watch it.
When they left, I kept thinking how nice it was that my husband wanted to do this. My husband wanted to spend a weekend with his grandma. Many grown men see their grandparents at holidays, if that. It’s quite clear that she has laid some foundation in him that he values.
I had lost one of my grandmas by age 4 and the other grandma by age 12. I have very vivid memories of both of them, but the grace my grandma displayed while battling cancer and staying strong for her family is unmatched in my core memories. When I am stuck between a rock and a hard place in life, I still to this day think about her and her grace towards tough situations. I will always apply her attitude toward my life and the decisions I make.
My husband on the other hand still has both of his grandmas on earth. Lucky guy. Seeing the friendship he has with his grandma is beautiful. It’s endearing, and it’s obvious that him still having grandma-grandson relationships in his life has helped him to be the tender-hearted man he is.
I often wonder who I would be if I still had my grandma here, and then I remember that grandmas are forever. My grandma’s grace and strength will live on through me, and my grandmother-in-law’s friendship and wittiness will live on through my husband.
Now we get to watch our own moms find who they are as grandmas with our own girls. My mom would drop anything to help me when I need someone to watch the girls, could push a backyard swing for hours, and will talk about flowers or cook them anything their littles hearts desire. My mother-in-law loves to talk to them about nature while walking them around the yard collecting sticks and rocks. They are embedding themselves in our girls through that bonding, just as my husband’s grandmas and mine did with us.
If a grandma is anything, she is forever—no matter how long she may physically be with us. Whether you are a 12-year-old girl or a 34-year-old man, we all need that little slice of love, laughter, friendship, and support only a grandma can provide.
by Krystal Sieben 
