Evelyn's Legacy

My grandmother Evelyn passed away unexpectedly three days before my thirteenth birthday. She and I had always been close. My family’s house was only a few blocks down the street from the senior living facility where my grandmother resided, which was situated on the corner of Maple Avenue. As a child, I would go see her every afternoon after school let out. I loved going to see her; she had the most bubbly personality that had a way of making all of your troubles go away. Grandma Evelyn was my rock when I got older and started having problems at school.

My mother worked a lot so I turned to my grandmother often for advice. She always listened to me when I was upset, no matter how big or small my problem was. When I was done crying, she would hug me tightly and tell me that my trouble would pass. Sure enough, it did. In hindsight, none of that stuff mattered. The things that upset me were usually petty things, such as my friend had talked to a boy that I liked, or that Jenna Stephens had said something mean to me again. As I got older and more mature, we baked cakes together while we laughed and talked about boys. Grandma would often tell me about a boy she knew when she was my age, who was named Edgar. Some things that she would tell me would make my cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment, but she would only laugh. She always told me that one day I would understand. In the evenings, we would snuggle up together and watch reruns of I Love Lucy on television.

When my mother broke the news to me about my grandmother’s passing, I was crushed. I hid myself away for two days in my bedroom and listened to the gentle autumn rain hit my window. My mother tried to comfort me, but she eventually left me alone to cry.

On the morning of my birthday, my mother had to coax me out of my bedroom. It seemed wrong to celebrate without my grandmother, who would normally be downstairs waiting for me with a red velvet cupcake that she had made herself. My mom sat me down at the table and put her hand on my shoulder. She slid a plate of pancakes in front of me, kissed my cheek, and said “Happy Birthday Sweetheart!”

“Thanks Mom,” I replied, trying my best to smile for her.

My mother paused for an instant. She looked more tired than usual. “Honey, I know that today is going to be hard for you. I promise you that we will get through it together. Your grandmother wouldn’t want you to be sad today.”

I nodded in agreement and picked at my pancakes with my fork as a lump grew in my throat. I blinked away the hot tears that threatened to spill from my eyes, and stared down at my plate, my head in my hand.

“I invited some people over for a small party tonight,” she added lightly, trying to lift the somber mood in the claustrophobic kitchen.

“Mom!” I whipped my head around to look at her. I glowered at her. “I don’t want a party this year,” I snapped. As soon as I said it, I felt guilty. She was only trying to help me. I knew that the death of my grandmother had been hard on her as well. It was easy to get wrapped up in my own feelings and forget that she had lost her mother too.

“No ‘buts’ Sarah. It’s your birthday. As your mother, I can’t let you spend this day all alone, especially considering everything that has happened,” my mother said in a firm voice, her hands on her hips. “The guests will be here at 5:00.”

The battle was lost. My mother had put her foot down, and nothing in this world was going to change her mind. I sulked a little bit, and thought about how unfair the world was. I just wanted to stay in my room all day and wallow away in my sadness. Was that really so much to ask?

The rest of the day drug by at a painfully slow pace. I laid on top of my twin sized bed and counted the speckles on the ceiling until I eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, filled with nightmares. When I woke again, the sun had already started to set, and I heard the loud clamor of footsteps coming from below: the guests had arrived. I turned over and groaned loudly into my pillow. Then I reluctantly got out of bed to make an appearance at my birthday party.

As I flicked the light on in my bedroom, I took a quick look at myself in my vanity mirror. I was a complete mess; my blonde hair was in disarray, my eyeliner was smudged down my cheeks, and my layered tank top had started to roll up on my torso. Grabbing my brush off of the vanity, I ripped it through my tangled hair. Then I tried to brush away the makeup on my cheeks with my fingers, with little success.

Here it goes, I thought. Just get through the party…

As I descended the staircase, I was able to make out some familiar voices. I heard my best friend, Lisa. I also heard my sister Carol talking with what sounded like an older gentleman who whistled a little bit when he spoke. The last voice that I recognized was that of my grandmother. But how was that even possible?

My heart skipped a beat as I hopped off the bottom stair. I ran towards the living room, in the direction of my beloved grandmother’s voice. Was this some kind of sick joke? A mixture of excitement and anger coursed through my body. My temples were throbbing. As I turned around the corner to the living room, I was met with a loud “SURPRISE!”

The living room was packed full of people in party hats. My mother stood in the front of the crowd, holding a little white sprinkled cake with thirteen burning candles. She smiled at me and said “Come on in, Birthday Girl!”

I looked around the room, flabbergasted. Most of the people here were my grandmother’s age, with silvery white hair and wrinkles all over their faces. On the big screen tv, I saw what appeared to be an old home movie. My grandmother’s face appeared on the screen.

“Is it on?” my grandmother asked, leaning uncomfortably close to the camera lens. A bright blue eye filled up the television screen.

“Mom! Mom! Stop,” I heard my mother reply, with a hearty laugh. “It’s on.”

The camera turned and my mother came into view, barely a day over thirty, holding a baby in a little yellow blanket. I recognized the blanket immediately. I had slept with it every night until I was seven years old.

I looked back at my mother, standing before me. She smiled at me.

“Your grandmother loved you so much honey. She often told me that the day that you were born was one of the best days of her life. And she was so proud of you. I just wanted you to know that. That’s why I invited all of these people here tonight.” My mother smiled and looked around.

One older woman walked slowly forward. “Sarah, you don’t know me but I knew your grandmother very well. I just wanted to let you know that Evelyn talked about you all the time. She kept these…” the old woman slowly reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out some photographs “...beside her bed, and she looked at them every night.”

I took the photos from the old woman’s shaky hand and started looking through them. There was a photo of my mother in a hospital robe holding me as a newborn, a photo of me standing on stage for a spelling bee in third grade, a photo of me with a wide smile and a missing tooth, and countless others. I looked up at the old woman with tears in my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered. I felt that I should say more, but somehow the words would not come.

One by one, everyone who knew my grandmother came forward and shared their favorite stories with me. Some of them made me laugh, like a story about the time that my grandmother accidentally dyed her hair pink. Others made me cry, like a touching story about when my grandmother learned that she had breast cancer.

Finally, an old man hobbled forward, supporting himself with a cane. “Sarah, my name is Edgar.”

I blinked. Edgar. “As in the Edgar that I have heard so much about?” I said with disbelief.

“The very same,” he replied with a grin. “I wanted to give this to you. Your grandmother was working on this for some time before she passed. She wanted to give it to you herself, but that job has fallen to me now.”

He held out a small black notebook to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder what mysteries lay inside. I grabbed it and turned the little notebook over in my hands. It was tied shut with a little red ribbon. I slowly untied the bow and then flipped the notebook open to the first page. There I found a handwritten letter signed by my grandmother. In front of it lay a slip of paper.

I turned over the slip of paper and froze. I felt as if all of the breath had been taken from my body. Sitting in the little notebook was a check, neatly made out to ‘Sarah Anders’ for $20,000! I could hardly believe my eyes!

Somehow I pulled my eyes away from the check and started to read the handwritten note:

Dearest Sarah,

The day that you were born, I knew that you were going to be special. I know, I know, every grandmother must say that just as every mother says that to their child. As I have watched you grow and blossom into a beautiful and intelligent young lady, I am more convinced every day that I am right. So I wanted to do something for you for your birthday that will help you become the woman that I know in my heart you can be. Enclosed is a check for $20,000 dollars. I want you to take this check and use it to help you to pay for your college education. Do what your mother and I weren’t able to do. Follow your dreams, wherever they might take you.

I love you more than you could ever know,

Grandma Evelyn

I looked up from the letter, unsure of what to say. This was the best gift that I had ever received. The letter had come to me at a moment when I needed it the most, and although it was no replacement for my beloved grandmother, it helped to soothe some of my pain. Even though it would be difficult at times, I realized that I didn’t want to wallow away in my room anymore. All of these stories had given me something invaluable: a deeper connection with my grandmother. I wanted to honor her life through my own stories, so that she could live on through them.

As I stood there, surrounded by my loved ones and newly found friends, I made a silent vow to my grandmother. I would be the person that she thought I could be, and I would make her proud to have been my grandmother. I would pay it forward by giving my children and my children’s children this same precious gift that I had received: something to remember me by, wonderful stories to share, and the chance for a future filled with love and happiness.