On Tuesday 03 January my grandmother, Anne Jodozi, passed away at the age of 92.
We will all miss her physical presence, but my family are celebrating the life of a woman who saw many hardships in her life, but who never lost her boisterous sense of humour, compassion for others and dedication to family. A woman whose robust strength and heart were as expansive as the Dakota plains that were her home. A woman who is no doubt up in heaven watching over us all (especially any of us foolish enough to fly over the ocean, which bothered her a great deal.) My mum likes to think of her dancing through the stars with my grandpa, gossiping over coffee with my Aunt Velda.
She was the last of my grandparents to go. Two grandfathers passed away before my childhood memories formed. My other grandma was already quite elderly when I was young and inspired an air of reverence and distance. My grandma Anne, on the other hand, was full of life and boisterous play. I remember when she worked nights at a nursing home (to which she sometimes drove through snow and ice), then appeared in the morning ready to take us fishing, drive us all over the county or play cards (which we could do for hours, stopping only for food and the endless stream of company that 'visited' daily.)
She was both the matriarch of the family and a truly wonderful woman. It's from her that I learned to feel a pride in family and in my heritage. She told us stories about her childhood on the farm that made me feel I came from heroic people. And when I was older, we would share a small drink before dinner (one of the few with a preference for vodka) and she would tell stories my grandpa, so that just for a moment I felt I knew him.
Her life had its bitter hardships. Her mother died when she was a young child and she grew up taking care of a house full of men. 36 years ago my grandfather died. Then, in the 80s, cancer took my aunt, leaving behind three young children and a devastated family. My grandmother helped raised my cousins, never complaining about the responsibility and making each of them feel loved and cared for. But through it all she kept her spirit, her respect for life, and her compassion for others.
I remember her most laughing. She had a great, proud, ringing laugh. A laugh (and strength) my mother inherited from her.
I'll miss her greatly. I'm glad she's no longer suffering, but I'll miss her.
We will all miss her physical presence, but my family are celebrating the life of a woman who saw many hardships in her life, but who never lost her boisterous sense of humour, compassion for others and dedication to family. A woman whose robust strength and heart were as expansive as the Dakota plains that were her home. A woman who is no doubt up in heaven watching over us all (especially any of us foolish enough to fly over the ocean, which bothered her a great deal.) My mum likes to think of her dancing through the stars with my grandpa, gossiping over coffee with my Aunt Velda.
She was the last of my grandparents to go. Two grandfathers passed away before my childhood memories formed. My other grandma was already quite elderly when I was young and inspired an air of reverence and distance. My grandma Anne, on the other hand, was full of life and boisterous play. I remember when she worked nights at a nursing home (to which she sometimes drove through snow and ice), then appeared in the morning ready to take us fishing, drive us all over the county or play cards (which we could do for hours, stopping only for food and the endless stream of company that 'visited' daily.)
She was both the matriarch of the family and a truly wonderful woman. It's from her that I learned to feel a pride in family and in my heritage. She told us stories about her childhood on the farm that made me feel I came from heroic people. And when I was older, we would share a small drink before dinner (one of the few with a preference for vodka) and she would tell stories my grandpa, so that just for a moment I felt I knew him.
Her life had its bitter hardships. Her mother died when she was a young child and she grew up taking care of a house full of men. 36 years ago my grandfather died. Then, in the 80s, cancer took my aunt, leaving behind three young children and a devastated family. My grandmother helped raised my cousins, never complaining about the responsibility and making each of them feel loved and cared for. But through it all she kept her spirit, her respect for life, and her compassion for others.
I remember her most laughing. She had a great, proud, ringing laugh. A laugh (and strength) my mother inherited from her.
I'll miss her greatly. I'm glad she's no longer suffering, but I'll miss her.
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