The World is a Little Less Bright Today

My dear grandma, Norma Alice Ricks Durfey, passed away early this morning. She was a woman my great-aunt often described as "an angel." I think it's because she was such a meek person; someone who never felt the need to be the center of attention and someone who would never cause intentional hurt to anyone. She always tried to be so helpful and never ran when someone needed to be fed or cared for.

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My grandma was a very practical person. A sort of anti-materialist and I deeply admire her for that. She liked 'niceness' in her house and personal appearance, but never expressed a need for more than that. I could probably look through her closet and recognize every piece of clothing, because she held on to and used the same clothes for the last 20 years I've known her. During the last ten years of her life, her lack of attachment to material things seemed particularly pronounced as she bestowed heirloom type gifts on me and my siblings. As an example, she gave me her best set of china as a wedding present nearly 4 years ago.

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She was a fastidious record-keeper. I well remember her writing in her journal, a three-ring bound notebook filled with standard paper, many evenings, even when family was around. When I was on my mission she wrote me often, and even sent me a copy of the talk she had given at my baptism when I was 8 years old. The topic was The Holy Ghost. Her talk revealed, as so much of her everyday speech did, her simple steadfast faith. In her talk, she taught me that the Holy Ghost was a "Special Guide" that would take care of me and tell me what I needed to know. Sometimes I might actually hear a voice directing me. Other times I might simply feel happiness, peace of mind, or a new sense of knowing. I remember often receiving such spiritual direction from my grandma.

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She taught me you could make chocolate frosting from scratch. She humored my hippie fascination when I was a teenager, though she gently tried to steer me toward slightly more conservative, less drug-powered political stances. I learned from her that age is a state of mind, as she boogy-boarded into her 70's with her equally young-at-heart Californian cousins.

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Her life was not without sadness. She vividly remembered growing up during the depression, and would tell me when I was young about trying to sell macaroni door to door with her father to help make ends meet. Her father died when she was a teenager, and she, with her other siblings, worked to support her mother. Due to complications caused by RH, my grandmother had only two children. My aunt, who had health problems, died when I was only 13. I can't imagine how incredibly difficult it was for my grandma to be preceded in death by a daughter.

Still, she remained cheerful despite occasional discouragement. And now there is an emptiness where she once was. A place in my life that had been held by this special woman is now empty, never to be filled by anyone else. She was my mother's mom, and now she's gone. Someone that knew me, held me, quieted me, hours after my birth. Someone who cleaned up my messes, heard my worries and silly ideas, saw me cry and laugh. She was there at almost every important transition in my life, from my baby blessing, to my baptism, to my mission farewell and homecoming, to my wedding, and then at my baby's blessing. And now, thanks to beliefs she transmitted successfully to me, I believe wholeheartedly that her involvement in my life hasn't ended; that she will be there for me as I continue to grow and transition, up until the most important transition of all. And I believe she will be there to greet me, just like her mother, and her grandmother. The cycle continues.

Grandma, I love you.