Monday, February 11, 2008

February 11- Abiding Memories


When someone dies that you know and have cherished, one is flooded with other thoughts of other relatives and friends who have died. Old trunks woke up this morning with an awareness of it not only being Walter Steinhauer's funeral, but also February 11, which is the day of my grandfather's funeral.


It's been greater than 30 years since my grandfather's service. I remember how my parents protected me and help me through those days. My grandfather was 97 +, yet, for a grand daughter with heart filled memories, it was too soon.

Daddy insisted that grandpa a builder, have an oak casket. Mother insisted that the spray on the casket be only long stemmed roses. Grandpa loved his rosebushes, which he raised and nurtured after grandma died in 1966. Only the best for this dear soul.

Granddaughter's, Grandsons and blended families will all have remembrances whether it be today or 30 years or 60 years from now. There is a kind of silent ministry which takes place within us for those who walked with us when when were children. Memories will be made for all who love Walter just as for all of us who loved my grandfather.

It's cold in northern Minnesota this time of the year. And in the country, where the only trees are planted in rows called wind breaks; the wind blows the snow and the snow polishes the roads. The best we can hope for is sunshine and no wind. It was a sunny and bright day for grandfather funeral. During the service daddy and I held hands promising each other we wouldn't start cry although we both did.

After the service, the casket would be brought back to Thief River Falls and placed at the mausoleum until spring when the ground was not frozen. He would be buried in Rindal next to Grandma in the family plot.

Irving Jarshaw, Bob Lasha, Rolland Sande, Chester Swanson, Herman Loberg, and Otto Lappegaard carried grandpa down the steps of the church. At the brief pause before they put him into the hearse, I pulled the rose from the spray on his casket. I told daddy I'd be right back.

He asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to the cemetery, which is adjacent to the church, to lay a rose on grandma's grave. I faintly heard him say, " you're not dressed to stomp for the snow." The fashion boots in 1977 were not high enough, yet I went anyway because it was important for me to say to grandma, grandpa dead and I wanted her to have a rose.

When someone dies, funeral home's provide a book, which for the most part is like a memory book. I inherited my familie's memory books. Many of the names that I've mentioned in the blog over the last year signed my grandfather's memory book. Grandfather was well liked; the signatures transcends eras in his life from people who've lived in Rosewood to people that he knew in town including Mrs. Lloyd(Ella) Anderson, and Julia and Oliver Rye.

Mother took the time to write the names of all the people who sent cards. This is beyond flowers and money. Even now decades later, I look at these names and realize that grandpa touched a lot of people.

Funeral are more than a spiritual service, it is a way to say goodbye to a good friend, or as in the present, a grandfather, a great grandfather.

Abiding memories,

e

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