Page 2 of When We Were More (Aron Falls #1)
Five years later
T illie
The words printed on the piece of paper shaking in my hands tell me I’m up next.
Sitting in the front row of the church, with Lester on one side and Ruthie on my other, I don’t know where I’m going to find the strength to go up there and speak.
Everything in me wants to stay here, on this hard wooden pew with Ruthie’s arm around me and Lester’s rough hand holding mine.
They, along with Ruthie’s sister, Sally, were Gram’s dearest friends, and when I moved to Aron Falls five years ago, broken, they were there for me, too.
I’ll never forget their love and kindness.
Gram wasn’t religious but always described herself as “spiritual.” Still, she loved the inside of this church. She used to meet a group of women here to prep meals for a soup kitchen she helped run in the neighboring city. She always said the church’s decor was understated.
Lester squeezes my hand.
“It’s your turn, Tillie girl. You can do this. You’ve got your Gram’s spunk and spirit in you.” I dip my head at him, afraid that if I speak, I’ll cry before I get on stage.
I turn to look at Ruthie. “He’s right, sweetie. You take your time. Everyone here loved her, and they love you, too.”
I nod and stand, the white piece of paper trembling in my hands. When I get to the podium, I clear my thoughts and fumble with the microphone. I finally glance up at the crowd and see, for the first time, how many people are here. I swear the entire population of our small town showed up.
I swallow past the lump of emotion building in my throat.
“Thank you all for coming to celebrate the life of my grandmother, Marilyn, whom you probably knew as Mari. If she were here, she’d wave her hand at us and tell us not to make a fuss over her.
That’s how she was. She always drew people to her, with her energy and love, and your presence here is a testament to how many of you her life touched. ”
Now it’s time for the words on the tear-stained piece of paper in my hands. I unfold it and attempt to focus on the letters staring back at me. They blur as my eyes fill with moisture. I blink several times, trying to clear my sight.
“Mari Evans lived in Aron Falls, in the same farmhouse she loved, from the time she was born until the day she died. That was how she wanted it. To you all, she was a friend, possibly your first-grade teacher, but, most of all, an example of what it means to live life to the fullest. She taught people how to be brave and not let fear hold them back from experiencing the beauty life has to offer. Her life, and her way of loving us all, will forever leave its mark on this town.”
I pause. The next part will be more difficult. They’re the words that remind me of what I’ve lost.
“My grandmother was a lot of things to me, but what she was most of all was a lifeline. When I was a lonely little girl convinced that I didn’t belong anywhere, Gram showed me that wasn’t true.
Even though the weeks I got to spend here every summer never seemed like enough, she loved me fiercely during those days, without question.
Not because of something I did to earn it, but simply because I was her granddaughter.
That love filled me up enough to get me through until the next time I got to come visit her.
She made me feel like I belonged to her and to Aron Falls. ”
“Most of you probably remember me as Mari’s chatty granddaughter who came to visit every summer, then eventually moved here five years ago.
What you don’t know is that I moved here because Gram saved me.
She, along with her lifelong friends, brought me home, and when danger tried to take me back, she and her unpredictable best friend, Ruthie, met him on the front porch with shotguns.
If you need something to make you smile today, picture our Ruthie over there, chasing a car down the driveway while waving a shotgun.
Other than that, the specific details don’t matter, but I sat on that porch swing, as many of you have, and I was a broken twenty-five-year-old woman who believed that there was no coming back from the direction my life had gone.
Gram showed me that it wasn’t true. When I didn’t have the strength to stand up for myself, she did it for me.
When I was afraid, she was my courage, and when I… ”
The tears are coming fast now. I grab a tissue, turn my head, and blow my nose as quietly as I can, then turn back to the group.
“Sorry,” I whisper into the microphone. I clear my throat again.
“When I felt I was unlovable, Gram showed me I was deeply loved, just as I am. She gave me enough love to last me a lifetime, and I’ll never be able to repay her for it.
That’s the thing Gram taught me about love, though.
Something I never experienced except with her.
You don’t have to earn love. It’s a gift, not a transaction. ”
I pause and focus on my notes to give myself a break.
The eulogy is incredibly difficult to get through.
With closed eyes, I allow my mind to wander back to a few months ago, right before Gram died.
We were sitting on the porch, sipping sweet lemonade, and she was working on convincing me I could open my own accounting firm.
Her confidence in me has always far outweighed my own.
“You can do anything you put your mind to, Tillie girl. No one can limit you but yourself. You’ve got what it takes, and I’m not gonna let you keep lying to yourself and sayin’ you don’t. ”
With her voice in the back of my head reminding me I can get through this, I open my eyes, ready to go on.
“Gram’s heart failure took her from me—from everyone in this town—less than a year after her diagnosis.
It was too soon, though even twenty more years with her wouldn’t have been enough.
Since she’s not here to do it, I ask that if you want to honor her life, each of us take up the mantle of loving and taking care of each other like Gram would have.
If we all do that, it’s possible we’ll be able to have a fraction of the impact she had on us. ”
I wipe the endless tears, then I turn my gaze upward. I’m talking to Gram now.
“Thank you for everything, Gram. I love you so much, and it hurts, but I’ll try to live in a way that honors you.
Thank you for fixing the broken places in my heart.
When I need to talk, I’ll meet you at the porch swing.
” My voice catches on those last words, and I swipe at my tears with my forearm.
I grab my paper and hurry back toward my seat.
Ruthie is up next, and she intercepts me on her way to the podium.
She folds me into a hug—rare for her—and whispers in my ear, “You were everything to her, Tillie girl. You might not realize it, but you saved her, too. You healed her broken mother’s heart, something she lived with for years before you came.
” Those words mean everything to me. When she releases me, she kisses me on the cheek and goes to the stage while I return to my seat.
Ruthie starts her eulogy and, in typical Ruthie fashion, it’s straightforward, uncouth, and my grandmother would have loved every second of it.
Many tears that were falling before she stood to talk disappear and are replaced with laughter and smiles as Ruthie details the memories she made with Gram.
I’m tired, though. And I don’t have the ability to laugh or smile yet. It feels like I never will again.
I let my mind drift. Before she died in her bed at home, Gram made me promise her I would do two things.
First, I would move forward with the restoration and remodeling of the house, with a start date already scheduled.
We spent the better part of a year dreaming up what it would be like.
It became one of my favorite parts of the day because it brought her such joy.
Her eyes lit up whenever we worked on her plans.
The other is more difficult—she wanted me to quit my job and chase my dream of starting my own accounting firm.
We talked about it many times, and my excuse was always that it wasn’t time yet, or I needed to save more money.
There was always something that prevented me from moving forward.
Gram saw my hesitancy for what it was. Fear.
Fear and the belief that I’m not good enough or smart enough to run my own business successfully.
But she made me promise that over the next year, I would do those two things.
I will. For her. As soon as I can think about anything for a few minutes without grief consuming me…