Mormor

My grandmother. My Mormor. My missing piece to my wedding.

As a little girl I was fascinated with my grandma and her Danish heritage. I did any school report I possibly could about her and her life and her culture. I loved spending time with her at "the house on the hill." I spent so much time reading historical fiction books as a child and right in front of me was my real-life heroine.

Grethe was born in Denmark and grew up there with her family. When she was a young adult, during WWII, she and some girlfriends were out one evening when they noticed a group of American soldiers. The soldiers had no idea that young Danish children were taught English in their schools while growing up, so the soldiers were discussing the "very attractive Danish girls" quite loudly. Suddenly Grethe turned to the group of young men and asked in English, "Oh you think so, huh?" Needless to say the young soldier's jaws hit the ground and after stumbling over themselves for a bit the groups joined up and Grethe invited them back to her parents house for dinner. That evening a spark flew between Grethe and Albert, one of the young American soldiers, and a long distance relationship began.

Now my grandpa, Albert, had moved to America with his own family from Czechoslovakia and his parents owned a poultry farm on Long Island in NY. He was a brilliant young man and was offered a full scholarship to college but had to deny it when he was called into the army for WWII where he served under General Patton. He was also one of the first to discover and enter into the concentration camps set up by the Nazi's. I cannot even begin to describe how proud I am of him for his accomplishments and his compassion to others.

Well you see, after that first meeting, Albert and Grethe began writing back and forth to one another and continued even after the war and once Albert was back home working on his parents farm. Finally, together they decided Grethe would pack up her life in Denmark and immigrate to America. So as a young woman she said goodbye to her family and everything she knew, bought a boat ticket with a girlfriend, and boarded a steamer ship for America. After crossing the Atlantic, she arrived to a rural farm with a husband who was often gone for school and work, and in-laws who barely spoke English. She held strong though and worked hard and eventually she and Al moved to Los Angeles and then Ventura.  They had four children and worked very hard to become the "All-American" family, and I would have to say they succeeded. My grandpa was a successful engineer and my grandma kept a wonderful home and included her Danish traditions in many aspects of their family's life. Then she was informed she had breast cancer.

In those days cancer was considered more of a death sentence. The treatments were brutal and the diagnosis wasn't good. But being the strong woman she was, she endured, and she beat that cancer into remission.

Then, when I was in the seventh grade, my family and I were gone on a trip. We came home and found a message on our answering machine from my grandpa, "It's your mom, Dave. She's not doing well and we got some news from the doctor. You need to call." We found out the cancer had returned. It was in her liver. There were only a few months. Being that I was only in middle school my parents choose to keep my sister and I distant from the pain and hurt my grandma was in but I do remember very clearly saying goodbye.

She was lying in bed, looking tinier and frailer than ever, and my grandpa was trying to feed her lunch and her medication and she shooed him out the door, refusing to touch it. I sat next to her on that great big bed and we talked about Danish sandwiches, how she taught me Danish, how many hours we spent talking about her life with my little Fisher Price tape recording catching every word on tape, the times we sat in her bay window in the kitchen and cleaned it, the times we went to the zoo, celebrated holidays, and spent the night there. Then I was told my grandma needed to rest and I needed to go. So I leaned in to give her a hug, not fully realizing it was to be our last, and tried to hug her carefully so I wouldn't hurt her even though I wanted to squeeze with all of my might, and I tried to take in the moment and the smell of her, and the sound of her voice. Oh how I miss her voice! How thankful I am for being that silly little girl who wanted to record her grandma's stories and now I have that voice on tape.

Only a few weeks after the initial phone call, my sister and I were home alone when my aunt came over, and while crying, she told us our grandma was gone and had passed away quietly that morning with her husband and three of her four children around her. My uncle didn't make it in time to say goodbye and they way I understand it, is that he came with flowers for her, only to be informed he had missed her and she was already gone. I can't even imagine that hurt.

So you see, my grandma passed away when I was just a young girl but she was such a large part of my life before that, that there are moments she is missing and I look up to heaven and I whisper, "Do you see me Mormor?"

"My braces are off Mormor. What do you think of my smile?"

"I am going to prom Mormor. What do you think of my dress? Is it pretty?"

"I am graduating high school. Are you proud of me Mormor?"

"I am graduating college Mormor. Can you believe it?"

"We have great-grandbabies in the family Mormor. Precious new great-grandbabies. Do you see them?"

And now, "I'm getting married, Mormor. He is so wonderful. You would love him. I wish you were here."

And I know to all these questions she whispers back from heaven, "Yes. You are. I'm so proud of my family."

So on my wedding day you will see a picture up front with us of my Mormor. To mark her place of honor with my family. To have her there with me on this most important day. And to remind me she's celebrating with us in heaven. There will also be a picture of Matt's grandparents who have also passed away.

Most likely you are asking what Mormor means. It is Danish for "mother's mother." Even though technically my sister and I should call her Farmor for "father's mother", the grandkids always called her Mormor.

One of my favorite things about my grandma Grethe is that she took the time to teach me Danish, and I regret that I don't remember more, but I remember what is most important - what you say to those who matter most in your life: Du betyder meget for mig, og jeg elsker dig, Mormor (You mean a lot to me and I love you Grandma).