My Grandma Hansen

Every other summer, my Mom would pack us all up and take her five daughters south to visit her parents in California.  Grandma and Grandpa lived in La Mirada, a suburb of LA, and seeing them was always a delight.  We would go to Disneyland and the beach.  We would swim in the Evans's pool.  Sometimes we would take side trips to Las Vegas, San Diego, or Bakersfield to reconnect with cousins and second cousins (and sometimes they would come to us for our beach and Disney trips).  It was kid heaven.

Apart from those "big" things, just being at Grandma and Grandpa's house was fun.  Coming from Seattle, the warm nights felt exotic and magical.  We would paw through my grandfather's various stamp and coin collections while admiring his various bells and cactus plants.  We would go through photo albums (Grandpa was a photographer, so they had a LOT) and read their Herman comic books.  We watched movies like Hello, Dolly! and West Side Story that Grandma had taped off TV, as well as the most recent news stories by my Uncle Bob.  We would sit on large pieces of cardboard to slide down the hill in their front yard (every time I go back to that house, I'm shocked by how small that hill is.  I swear it was a real HILL when I was a kid but really it's barely more than a bump)!  Some lucky souls would get to sleep on the hide-a-bed, which seemed full of wonder to me at the time, since it was the only home I knew of that had one. 

Visits to California epitomized everything a magic summer vacation should be.

I know Grandma and Grandpa came to see us on the years we didn't visit them, but those memories aren't as clear in my mind.  We have pictures of us getting ice cream and visiting the fish ladders, so I know we had fun together.  But California burns brighter in my mind, probably because it was such a completely different place from home.

My Grandfather died when I was a freshman in high school, and I don't remember our trips as well after then, although of course we still went.  I do vividly remember that when my junior year turned sour, my Mom sent me to LA and San Diego during spring break.  I had tons of fun with my cousins in San Diego, but my best memory from that trip was laying in a hammock on a gorgeous summery day, smelling orange blossoms and appreciating to myself that right at that moment, I was experiencing perfection.  My Mom was wise to send me there-- it didn't fix my problems back at home, but it gave me exactly the respite I needed to get through one final year of torture high school.  (And, actually, my senior year was much happier, so that was nice.)

But I'm getting way off track here.  This is starting to sound like a love letter to California, when really it's a tribute to my grandmother, who passed away on Wednesday.  In my mind, Grandma and California are inseparably linked: I so rarely had one without the other, and the two have such similarities for me.  They were both places of comfort and delight, where California always had perfect weather and my Grandmother was always sunny and happy to be with.  In the same way that I can't remember it ever raining in LA, I can't remember my grandmother ever being anything other than sweet, charming, and gracious.  I'm sure she had her bad moments just like the rest of us (and I know she was more trying as she got very elderly and helpless).  But not when I was with her.


The morning that she died, I happened to read a line written to Galileo by Cardinal Barberini which summed up exactly how I felt about my Grandmother.  He wrote, "I pray the Lord God to preserve you, because men of great value like you deserve to live a long time to benefit the public."*  Grandma didn't make any great scientific contributions, but she spread kindness and joy everywhere she went.

At her death, she was 93 (a month shy of 94, actually), and had been a widow for twenty years.  She had been cared for by my Las Vegas family for eight years, and bedridden for the last several.  She was the last of her ten siblings to still be alive, which feels like the loneliest thing in the world to me.  And for the last couple days of her life, she had been unable to eat.  So in many ways, her death is not tragic at all-- it was time for her to move on.  Which is why I'm not exactly sad for her death, but I am sad to have her gone.  Because the world needs more kind people like her, and I feel like we are all missing her wonderful influence now.  My Grandfather once told us that she was the sweetest person he ever knew, and I agree whole-heartedly with him.  It has been wonderful to read the notes and memories that people who knew her have been sending in to my family.  Her sweet influence truly spread through generations of people.



The only pictures I have on my computer of Grandma are from my wedding...  But isn't she lovely in every single one of them?  That's what happens when you're married to a photographer for long enough-- it was almost impossible to capture a picture of my Grandma where she isn't smiling perfectly!

Outside the temple (also pictured are Leah, Jeni, Lindsy and Kamryn)

With Tracy and my Mom

Chatting with Carla and Kerry Curtis (my other Grandma's best friend)-- I love how Grandma looks so interested in what Carla is saying here.

With both my Grandmas!

Holding my bouquet for me

Thank you for always being such a kind and wonderful person, Grandma.  I will miss you.  And the world may not know it, but it already misses your sparkling influence.

I love you, Grandma.




*Galileo's Daughter, by Dava Sobel, pg. 44.