An Ode to Grandma Boyd

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but the gravity of it all has just been too much. But since today marks one month since she’s been gone—and if Schultz gets an ode, surely Grandma deserves one too. It’s probably too long and too rambly, but it’s the least I can do to mark the life of the woman I loved so dearly.

Carol Jean Boyd
Nov. 10, 1936-Jan. 28, 2011

My grandma: The coolest woman in town

When I was a little girl, I used to keep a list of my favorite people. Always vying for the No. 1 spot (usually competing with my dad) was Grandma. She figures prominently in many of my fondest memories from childhood. My grandma was truly one of my best friends, and certainly my biggest fan.

My grandma was a wonderful lady. Over the course of her mothering years, at one time or another, she had 11 kids living with her, only three of which were her own (plus one stepson). Others included friends, cousins, nieces, nephews. Anyone who needed a place to stay always knew they could count on the Boyd household.

She was such a wonderful person and instilled in me values I hold dear to this day. I’ll never forget being at her old house by the lake (where she lived until my grandpa died; after, she moved into a rental just a half-mile down the road from my parents) and accidentally breaking one of her cherished bells (she kept them all on a shelf on display). She asked us grandkids who was guilty and we of course all lied about it because we feared she’d be mad at us, upset that we broke something she liked so much. But she took us aside and sat us down and explained very clearly she wasn’t mad at all. Bells and other material things are replaceable, but she just wanted us to be honest and tell her the truth. So of course we owned up to the crime, and she wasn’t mad. I think she fed us cookies or something and called it a lesson learned.

She let us get away with things our parents never would. My cousin and I watched many a scandalous Tom Cruise movie with my grandma, as well as Basic Instinct, a movie I’m not sure I’d ever let my children watch no matter their age!

My grandma, helping me on my trike, circa 1985

As I grew older—particularly as my grandma moved to be closer to us after my grandpa passed away in 1999—my grandma and I grew closer. Being a widow, she took great pride in her grandchildren and her life certainly was centered on family. She was my biggest supporter, and was always so proud of everything I did. She came to my games to cheer me on. She cut my name out of the paper every time it appeared on the honor roll. She would come down as I got ready for the prom and hang out with me and my cousin while she did my hair. She came to every honors banquet, every awards ceremony, and she just beamed with pride at every one, no matter how small. (Disclosure: She loved all the grandkids and did the same for us all, not only me!)

Once I started interning at the local newspaper in town, my grandma really got excited. She would cut out the articles I had written and carry them around in her purse, always eager to show them to her friends at church, old classmates she bumped into at the Ponderosa or any random stranger in Wal-Mart willing to listen. We always said she never met a stranger, and it’s true. My grandma loved people.

One time she was driving home and came upon a terrible accident right before her house. Instead of just speeding by, she got out and saw that someone was hurt, so she called for help. I’m fairly certain she stayed there with this young man who had been in accident until an ambulance arrived. He later died from the trauma, and she went to the funeral home to pay condolences to his family, who I remember being very thankful to her for trying to help as best she could.

She was the one I ran to in my time of need. I got a tattoo without telling my parents in high school, but I let my grandma in on the secret. When one day my parents finally busted me, I stormed away in tears, tearing up the driveway toward her house. She let me hang out until things blew over.

On the night of my graduation, I was at a party celebrating the end of our high school days when I got a terrible phone call. My grandma had had a heart attack and was in the hospital. I remember dropping everything and just sprinting to my car, telling my boyfriend at the time I didn’t care about anything, we just had to get home now. Luckily, she made it through that episode, and with the help of a pacemaker, we got an extra eight years out of her.

It was hard on her when I went to college, and I know my grandma missed me dearly. But she was able to keep an eye out on that dog of mine for me while I was gone, and thus developed their bond. This is also when we began our tradition of having weekly phone calls to catch up since I was away — a tradition that continued right up until this December, when she was in the hospital and too sick to talk to me. We tried emailing for a while, and though technology eventually proved too tricky for her old mind and she gave up on figuring out “that damn computer,” she nonetheless printed out and saved every email I ever wrote her.

At my college graduation

She relished the chances she had to come to Bloomington to visit, and she would always be sure to watch the IU basketball—and even football—games so we could discuss them during our next chat. She came to every single one of my scholarship and/or awards ceremonies, and she saved the programs and nametags from every one. She was overjoyed when I was selected to be an intern for the Indiana Senate for a semester during my sophomore year, and she liked to constantly remind me that my great-great-grandfather John Blunt was a state senator. She and her sister (my Nanny, as we affectionately call my very close great aunt) came up to visit one day, and we met with our local senator, gave them a tour of the statehouse and let them see the interior chamber of the Senate.

The summer of my junior year, I interned at a newspaper in Frankfort, Kentucky, a sort of miserable place where my only friend was my roommate. She knew I wasn’t wild about it, so my grandma packed up my brother and the two of them came down for a little visit to keep me company for a while. When I moved in with a house of boys my senior year of college, my grandma made sure we were always stocked up. Every time I went home, she’d send me back to Bloomington with cases full of her homemade spaghetti sauce and salsa (canned herself in Mason jars that we would reuse as beer mugs).

When I moved to New York, it was hard on both of us to be so far away from each other permanently. We kept our regularly scheduled weekly phone call appointments — one-hour chats every Tuesday night! — and she enjoyed sending me gifts. (She always sent the girls in our family pink and red underwear on Valentine’s Day.) I tried to make it home at least once a season to see her and the rest of my family. Sometimes, we wouldn’t tell her I was coming, and I would just show up at her house to surprise her—at times nearly eliciting another heart attack!

When I decided to move to China, telling my grandma was the hardest part. I knew she would support me and be ever so proud and love to hear about the adventures I was bound to have, but I also knew—though she might not say it aloud—that she would be very upset to be that far away from me. I bought my parents a webcam and taught them how to set up Skype so I could tell her in person rather than over the phone. She was of course skeptical that I could live that far away from her, but once I moved to Beijing—and was able to work two days a week from home—we actually were able to chat once a week for long periods, often well over our scheduled one hour.

I know my living here was hard on her, but I also know how much fun it brought her to share in my adventures. She started learning about China. She would read books or magazines she’d see, and she was overjoyed when she found out she could watch CCTV (China’s state-run news channel, which has an English version) on satellite. She loved to read my blog, and since she couldn’t quite get the computer, my mom would print out photos and posts and take them to her, and my grandma would pour over them again and again, soaking up every word and taking in my wild overseas adventure. She loved to hear about all the trips I’d taken, all the people I’d met and the places I’d seen.

My two favorites: Grandma and Schultz

I’m so grateful that I was able to get home last month and be able to see her one last time. The doctors said on the Sunday before I was scheduled to leave Hong Kong for Indiana that following Tuesday that they didn’t think she would even make it until I could get home once they took her off the ventilator, but she did. Everyone swears she knew I was coming and she waited. And she even got a little better before getting worse over those weeks I was home. She finally passed on a Friday night, Jan. 28, the night before I was set to return to Hong Kong. My aunt said she knew that it would happen this way; that Grandma would wait until I left before she’d say her last goodbye to this world.

When I left Saturday, it was hard. No one likes boarding a plane bound for a 16-hour trip, and the circumstances certainly didn’t make things any easier. But just as we were about to board, the Delta agent came over the intercom and said something special: “Paging Boyd. Passenger Boyd, please come to the desk for the flight.”

She was already there with me.

I loved my grandma so much and I know she loved me too. She truly inspired me to work hard and helped me to achieve many of the things I’ve been able to do thus far because I knew she’d always be right there to support me no matter what. My life is never going to be the same without her, but I’m so thankful to have had so many wonderful times throughout these 26 years.

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