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They lived in the village of Sommerfeld, Manitoba, where they had a mixed farm. Most of their groceries were home grown: eggs, milk, butter, cottage cheese, meat and lard. Grain from the crop was ground in the local mill, often in return for a share of the flour.
Grandfather had had a heart condition for many years, but his only medication was some little green pills. It was the beginning of January, 1930, in the middle of a cold winter. As usual, Grandfather was having a short nap before dinner. When the meal was ready, Grandmother knocked on his door and announced, "Come for Fesper." After while, she called again, but there was no reply. The door was opened by force, and they found Grandfather on the floor. He had died as a result of his heart condition.
It was unexpected. Grandmother had always leaned on Grandfather for guidance and direction. The country was in recession, and her youngest son was only 12.
In those days, there was no funeral home, and the family made the funeral plans themselves. The body would lie in state in the home until burial. My grandmother could not sleep: Was this reality? She got up in the night, went into the next room where Grandfather was and touched him.
My father and Uncle Peter built the coffin. The neighbours baked buns, and coffee was served after the burial in the family cemetery.
I was only three years old at the time, but small incidents remain in my mind. The neighbours were very helpful and supportive, especially the Brauns. They had a weekly Bible study in their home and invited Grandmother. She was not interested in the Bible study, but was attracted by the friendliness of the people and went just for the company. But the Word of God is powerful, inviting and comforting. Grandmother realized that she needed the assurance of heaven, and accepted Jesus as her Saviour. What a perfect answer to the mystery of life and death!
She now had joy, but along with that came another question. Was Grandfather ready? Did he know? Had he accepted Jesus? Where was he? Grandmother wanted so much to know that at the end of the road she would meet Grandfather in heaven. One spring day, Grandmother said to herself, "At the head of his grave, I will plant a little sapling, and if it grows, that shall be my answer that I will meet him in heaven." She watched the sapling; it grew new leaves, and she knew that it was alive.
That spring, my parents moved to another farm 16 miles away. Sometimes in winter, Grandmother would bravely take the train and come for a week's visit. Or, she and Uncle Peter would suddenly arrive by horse and cabus (a closed-in sleigh). We had no telephone, so these delightful visits came without warning.
With time and endurance and very hard work, the recession changed to better times. Many family gatherings were held at Grandmother's farm: Christmas, Easter, Pentecost and birthdays. A highlight of the farm was the huge garden. First was the flower garden, at the end of which was a fascinating laubhaus (a shelter consisting of lattice work and grape vines) with two benches. Then came the vegetable garden. Just beyond that were white and mauve lilac bushes and shrubs called "shlee". Then there were the fruit trees, with lots of chokecherries and plums. At the very end of the garden was the little family cemetery. My aunts still at home kept the yard and garden meticulously tidy and attractive. During summer visits, often the whole family would enjoy a leisurely promenade through the gardens.
Uncle Peter, too, had a failing heart and was not strong for farm work, but he had a happy heart. He was witty and clever, and a great support for Grandmother. In August of 1940, after a lengthy illness, we had to let go of him, and he too was buried in the family cemetery. He was only 39. The comfort that the family had was that Uncle Peter was a believer.
No one felt the loss more than my grandmother. How could death be so cruel? Once she said to me that every ten years some tragedy happened in the family, Grandfather dying in 1930 and Uncle Peter in 1940--life goes on, but they were irreplaceable.
After Uncle Peter was gone, the family agreed with Grandmother's wish that the first Sunday in August be kept as a memorial for Grandfather and Uncle Peter. My parents, uncles, aunts and cousins all walked to the graveyard. There, among the tall trees, we sang, read the Bible and prayed together.
How I treasured this walk through the garden with my grandmother, to see and smell the many flowers. Grandmother said, "Child, we cannot help that a bird flies over our head, but we must not let it build a nest on our head." At the small cemetery, we would stand in silence. There was Grandfather's grave, with a rugged marker and the words from Revelation 14:13 printed in white: "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." There was a vacant plot and next to it Uncle Peter's grave. Grandmother stood motionless and speechless. Not a lot was said as we walked through the garden back to the house.
In time, Grandmother became very ill, but she was still hoping that something could happen so that she could get well again. How I hurt to see my grandmother suffer. I said, "Grandmother, it could be that Jesus will come and take us all." She smiled and squeezed my hand. It was 1950. The plot next to Grandfather is not vacant anymore.
My grandmother has left a lasting impression on my life. It touches me deeply to know that this little lady loved me.
In July of 1994, I had the privilege of visiting the family cemetery. As I stood by the graves of my grandparents and Uncle Peter, I cried and felt very close to them. A tall tree stands at Grandfather's grave, and another at Grandmother's. It is true what the Bible says: "The memory of the righteous will be a blessing" (Proverbs 10:7).
Sara Sawatzky is a member of King Road MB Church in Abbotsford, B.C.
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