Peach Pit Hearts

It was July 1977, I was 10 1/2 years old and everything had turned to chaos in my world. In one moment, everything that I knew and trusted was turned upside down. Days spent swinging in my backyard under giant walnut trees would soon become only a memory. The cool breezes on hot summer days and the chill of autumn would no longer be a part of my experience. These would be traded for barren desert and intense heat.

Before this moment in time, there were a number of people in my life that made everything feel safe and calm; even when it really wasn't. As a child I did not know that these people were the ones that held the biggest space for helping me to learn to trust and believe that the world was a good place. Moving to the desert not only changed the landscape and the climate in my world, it also changed my capacity for trusting others. It really wasn't the move that caused this change, but that is where I laid the blame for many years.

In the land of green grass and tall shade trees I had a sense of belonging and being known and loved. I had access to extended family and friends who helped me to know that I was never alone. There were times of laughter and celebration, picnics at the river, shared birthday meals and birthday cakes, and playing games or catching lightning bugs in jars at dusk. Moving to the desert stripped me of those close connections and bonds and left me feeling lost with no way home.

During the last two weeks in the land of grass and tall shade trees I had a chance to spend the night with several dear friends, one of my aunts, and my dad's mother, Grandma Nellie. It was a chance to say goodbye before the move, but it was also a way to provide my older sister and me with a place to stay while Dad was at work. In those last two weeks, Mom was in the hospital recovering from an incident that started off as an argument with Dad and ended with a need for reparative surgery on her jaw. It was the only time that this type of thing took place, but the effects of that moment would linger for many, many years to come.

It was during my last visit with my Grandma Nellie that I received two of the best gifts ever. Grandma Nellie gave me a basket that she lined with fabric filled with treasures, and my step grandpa, Grandpa Bergner whittled a heart for me from a peach pit. I have kept them for over 43 years and have looked at the contents of the basket and held the heart in my hand often. The funny thing is, until recently, I had forgotten when these were given to me; just before I moved to the desert. I honestly do not remember how they made it to the desert, but I have always been glad that I still have them. The peach pit heart really has no value at all except that it is the only gift that I remember receiving from Grandpa Bergner.

Before the move, I saw Grandpa Bergner and Grandma Nellie about once a month on Sunday afternoons. I did not know them very well nor do I have many memories of spending time with them. What I do remember is that Grandma always made everyone's favorite pie, so when we went to her house, there was a cherry pie for me, an apple pie for my sister, a coconut cream pie for Mom, and a lemon meringue pie for Dad. She baked them in her wood burning cook stove and they were amazing! My grandparents did not have very much, but the table was always full of homecooked food when we arrived.

Grandma and Grandpa did not have indoor plumbing, so going to their house meant that you had to be prepared to use the outhouse. They had single light bulbs hanging from the ceiling in each room and a giant box fan in a window to circulate air through the house. Grandma looked old way before her time. She was short, a little bit round, and wore a hairnet on her head. She was loosing her sight by the time I was 10 years old. Grandma had made quilts for all of her kids and grandkids on a peddle powered sewing machine, but her poor vision was making it challenging to continue quilting. She was not the most skilled seamstress or quilter, but she created each piece with love.

It was during that last visit when she gave me the basket pictured at the top of this post. I had started making doll clothes out of scraps of fabric and had made a tiny doll quilt by hand. On one of the previous visits I had with her, I brought them to show her. She was so excited! That last visit with her, she presented me with the basket and told me that none of my cousins had any interest in learning how to quilt, so she wanted me to have the quilt squares and tools that she had placed in the basket so that someday I could finish what she had started. As a 10 year old, I was a bit overwhelmed at the thought of creating a full sized quilt, but I was also incredibly happy to have something of hers to take with me.

The tiny thimble and hand written notes are priceless treasures. The peach pit heart reminds me of the simple life that she led and of the way that she treasured the simplest of things. She squinted her eyes when she giggled, and she loved to run her hand over my hair. I wish I could have had more time with her to hear stories about when she was little or to hear her laugh. I wish I had been able to learn about her family and the things that she experienced in her lifetime.

Until this year I did not know of all of the sorrows that she endured in her lifetime, I knew that my dad's father had died when my dad was only five years old, What I didn't know is that in the first five years of my dad's life, Grandma Nellie lost three children and her husband. Five years after that, she lost another teenaged child. She had also lost her own mother when she was 15 years old. This was a lady who had suffered immense amounts of trauma and had to continue to raise five other children. I wish I had known these stories, could have asked her questions, could have had a different perspective of her and of my dad.

Despite all of the loss and in spite of so many things that were thrown in her path, Grandma Nellie found a way to create beauty through her vegetable garden, her kitchen, her sewing room, and in her love for her family. She wasn't perfect; no one is. She made mistakes. We all do. The ways that she adapted to survive and in turn handed down to her children, continue to be passed along; good and bad. My dad did not talk about the painful events that were a part of his life and family history. I would imagine that it is because Grandma Nellie did not talk about these things either. If I had to guess, I would imagine that no one talked about the losses that took place. Death and grief were just a part of the fabric of life.

It has been 43 years since I left the land of green grass and shade trees. It has taken me most of those 43 years to discover many of the missing pieces of my life and my heart. The journey has been filled with many triumphs and much pain, but today, as I look at this basket and hold this peach pit heart one more time, I am thankful for the happy and hard experiences I have had along the way, and I am thankful for the healing I have had in my heart, mind, and life. Through faith and the belief that anyone can find peace and healing from life's tragedies, today I choose to offer empathy and kindness to others as they journey through life acknowledging both the painful moments that have impacted their lives and discovering paths to healing that leads to hope - because there is always hope.