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Anyone who knows me or has read my articles knows that our family has experienced a lot of loss over the last few years.
One thing that continues to amaze me about this stage of life is just how incredibly hard it can be. Navigating my own grief while trying to help my children understand and navigate theirs is something I don't think I'll ever get used to doing. Growing up, I never really thought about what life would look like without the people and animals who had always been there.
I grew up in a family that was far from perfect. We had our challenges, disagreements and difficult times, but we spent a lot of time together. And one thing I know for certain is that I was blessed with some pretty incredible grandparents. I don't know exactly what kind of parents or spouses they were, but I know what kind of grandparents they were. They loved us, taught us and helped shape the people we became. Being the oldest grandchild on both sides, I've always felt a little extra blessed to have had those additional years with them.
This past weekend, we went through my Grandma and Grandpa's home in preparation for their estate sale. Grandpa passed away in 2013, and Grandma in December 2024. That house and property hold a lifetime of memories. Farming, gardening, canning, yard sales, running through the hayfields with my cousins and simply sitting in the side yard with my grandparents. So many ordinary moments that turned out to be extraordinary memories. Moments I would give just about anything for my own children to have experienced. Unfortunately, sometimes you discover that grandparents were the glue holding a family together, and navigating everyone's emotions, expectations and opinions after they're gone can be incredibly painful. I found myself biting my tongue and taking deep breaths more than once this weekend, trying desperately to hold back tears.
I wasn't there looking for anything valuable. There were really only a few things I hoped to find. One was a Lee Middleton baby doll that felt like a real baby that Grandma bought when I was little. My cousin Jess and I absolutely adored that doll. Grandma would let me hold it and sometimes even sleep with him. She always told me what a wonderful mother I'd be because of how I cared for my babies. And boy, did I take that job seriously! Diaper bags, extra clothes, strollers and car seats. My play babies even went to the hayfield!
The other things I wanted were recipes, canning supplies and old kitchen gadgets. Grandma and my great-grandma taught me that cooking, preserving food and caring for the land were ways of loving your people and your community. They taught me that hard work mattered and that taking care of the people you love was one of the most important things you could ever do.
Eventually, I found myself in Grandma's basement. That basement, as scary as it was, holds so many memories. It's where I got my arm stuck in a wringer washer when I was 3. It's where I carried jar after jar of canned goods and helped grandpa dump taters in the tater bin. I remembered Grandma telling me during one of her last visits to my house how much she loved my collection of antique kitchenware and that I needed to come get some of hers. I never did. I guess I never felt right taking things from my grandparents while they were still here. And now, I regret not taking her up on that offer, not because I needed those things, but because I missed another opportunity to spend time with her, listening to her stories and learning something from her.
As my cousins and I carried things upstairs, I couldn't help but think about how much more I wished I could take home. But none of what I wanted to take home was in that house. Another conversation. Another afternoon in the garden. Another opportunity to learn something. Another ordinary day together. I thought about my own children and the day they'll eventually sort through my belongings. I hope they understand that the things we accumulate aren't what define the lives we've lived. I hope they remember the love, the laughter, the lessons, the traditions and even the hard days we worked through together.
Because my grandparents aren't in the few things I brought home this weekend. They're in my work ethic, my values, my love for the outdoors and agriculture, my desire to care for others, the traditions I try to keep alive and the way I love my own children. They're woven into so much of who I am, and I don't think I fully understood that until I stood in their home, surrounded by a lifetime of things, wishing more than anything that they were still there.
So make the phone call. Take the visit. Ask for the recipe. Listen to the stories. Share what you know, love your family hard and don't assume there will always be another time. Because someday, someone will be sorting through the things we leave behind, and I hope what they treasure most isn't something they can hold in their hands.
I hope my grandparents would be proud of the person I've become, because I couldn't be more grateful for the people from which I came. And while my heart hurts knowing those days are gone, I will spend the rest of my life feeling incredibly blessed that I got to live them.
Orahood is the organization director at Ohio Farm Bureau Federation for Ashtabula, Geauga, Lake and Trumbull counties.