Eva

I had planned to settle in tonight and write a funny little blog about Wonder Woman. However, a friend got some sad news tonight, and I am feeling inspired to write about my grandmother, Eva (her real name). Grandma Eva is no longer on this earth, but she was a very dear person to me, and I want to share a bit of her.

Being a military brat, the only family I ever knew well were my parents and two brothers. After all, we only had each other whenever we made a trek from one army base to the next, averaging every other year. My Grandma Eva would come to visit (I would guess) about once a year. To be honest, I don't recall her being around much, but family photo albums prove otherwise: Eva with a beehive hairdo, Eva standing stiffly behind her grandchildren who are clutching their Easter baskets greedily, Eva leaning over to light my birthday candles.

It wasn't until high school, when we moved to Mesa, AZ, that I got to know my Grandma Eva as a real person. While my parents went house hunting and my brothers amused themselves somehow, I grew to love my time with Eva. She made cabbage rolls and homemade noodles while she told me stories of her childhood, her family, her life. I suppose all the moving I had done up to that point had kept me rootless, and hearing these stories helped me to understand my history and the need we all have to connect, to be loved, to belong.

On one such day, my grandmother told me her most precious story: how she met my grandfather, Theodore. She started by telling of her childhood, growing up as the oldest girl in a family of 16 (yes, that IS correct- 16!) on a farm in rural Minnesota. The family lived in such poverty that Eva's parents were forced to "farm her out," meaning that she was basically a servant at a neighboring farm and her wages went directly back to her parents in order to feed the youngest children. Eva described long days of back-breaking work, with few moments of real fun. One night, though, she and a neighbor girl decided to go to a local barn dance. Eva was very excited because she knew she would have the chance to polka, and she also knew this: she was very good at the polka! She arrived that night, dressed as nicely as she was able, and began to dance with every young man who would ask her. One particularly large and imposing man caught Eva's attention; she caught him staring at her as she danced. However, she was not certain what to do, as he was clearly there with a date, a pretty little slip of a girl at his side. Eva would not allow anything to prevent her from her polkas, and soon she noticed that the interesting man had disappeared. She sighed, but decided to make the best of this rare night of fun.

Much later, as she was walking out with her neighbor, the tall man approached her and introduced himself as Theodore Graupmann, a farmer in a neighboring town called Hamburg. Being a man of few words, he told her that he would like to drive Eva home. She asked him quite boldly where his young lady friend had gone, and he gruffly explained that he'd driven his date home and driven back just to meet Eva. With no further discussion, Eva agreed to get into this man's car.

My grandmother remembers every detail of that car ride home, and went on to tell me about the phase of the moon, the farms they drove by, and the small talk the two shared. I know from later stories that Eva's life after marriage was no fairy tale, and she had many heartaches to bear. Somehow, to me, this makes the story of how she met my Grandpa Ted that much sweeter.

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I have one other story to share about Grandma Eva. When I had made the decision to go to China to teach English for a year, there was a wide range of responses from friends and family. Some thought I was crazy to go on my own, while others admired my courage and sense of adventure. My grandmother staunchly held to the latter opinion, expressing her delight and envy of my upcoming trip. It was sad to say goodbye to my family on the day of my departure, but that much more bittersweet knowing how ill my grandmother had become, and knowing that I may not see her when I returned. Eva did, however, promise to write regularly... and she did.

It was several months into my stay in China when I decided to go over to my friend's Tibetan restaurant and teach the cooks a new recipe: salsa. I stood in the warm kitchen, trying to explain the process in my broken Chinese and showing by example. I sliced at an onion, only to look down and see that I had cleanly sliced deeply into my finger. Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion not appropriate to such a shallow cut, I began to weep... then downright sob. My friend, Chen Jiang, put his arm around me and gently led me to a table out front. He asked me in his best English what the matter could be. I could not explain, and simply gathered my things to walk home, still crying. I recall making it to a quiet, dirty alleyway, only to be overwhelmed again with a fresh wave of dread and grief. I quite simply knew that something was wrong with my grandmother.

When I was able to make it to my room, I tried to call my parents. For two days, I either got messages stating that my phone was out of service or just heard a dull buzzing sound. On the third day, I awoke to my phone ringing. My father was calling, sounding very sad. I knew right away, and explained the incident where I'd cut my finger. Together, we worked out the timing, and sure enough, my Grandma Eva passed at about the same time that I had been in that alleyway, crying.

Who knows if this can be explained away? Perhaps it was just a coincidence. But I will always choose to believe that my grandmother's heart traveled halfway around the world to share one last love story.