My Grandma, My Hero

My grandma, Lois Tolley Campbell, was one tough woman. I will never forget the story my mom often told about her. A hardworking farm woman living in Rigby, Idaho, my grandma always had chores that had to be done, whether she felt like it or not. One day my mom, a young girl at the time, was playing out in the yard. When she heard that there had been a terrible accident and her mom's leg had been run over by the hay baler. She ran inside to see if she could do anything to help and was shocked to see her mother in the kitchen, her leg, swollen and black and purple with bruises, propped up on a chair while she made sandwiches for the men working outside. "Mom!" my mom said. "What are you doing?"

Lois looked up like it was the most obvious answer in the world: "I'm making sandwiches for the men." As in, how else will they eat if I don't make sandwiches? It's lunch time! I'm obviously not dead, so I'm well enough to keep working.

This was how Lois lived her life. I think she must have lived by the motto, "If there's work that needs to be done, do it. And if there isn't work that needs to be done, get off your couch and find something that needs to be done. And then do it." 

My mom often told me another story, usually in an effort to inspire me to do something hard. As a child, if she woke up in the morning and felt "too sick to go to school," her mom would tell her to go out and feed the chickens (my mother's least favorite chore, by the way). If she was well enough to feed the chickens, she was well enough to go to school. If, however, she passed out or threw up on the way, well, obviously she was too sick to go to school. There were very few times, if any, that my mom was actually too sick to feed the chickens. Once she got up and started working, she usually felt much better. And that's how we were raised, too, but minus the chickens (thank goodness!).

I remember many long weekend and summer trips up to grandma's house. She had one of the most amazing houses that a kid could ask for--a huge, impossible-to-open bathroom drawer full of old toys, a wood-burning stove to heat the house, the best dog in the world appropriately named Harry (Hairy?) Barker, a huge yard with trees to climb, a creepy old playhouse that was actually (from what I heard) the great-whoever grandparents who first lived on this property's house, an irrigation stream with a bridge over it in which we could float the boats from the toy drawer, a huge farm with 3-wheelers and old farm equipment and horses and huge stacks of hay bales to climb, a treehouse 10 minutes away from the house, a huge tire swing made from an old tractor tire, and a creepy cement basement that I was sure was full of rats. Every time my grandmother or mom asked me to go down there and get something out of the food storage, I tried desperately to find a way out of it. We thought we were brave if we went down more than the first three steps!

She had these awesome gadgets all around the house--a balanced metal fisherman-fish combo that would rock back and forth on the shelf, the yellow "people feeder" that you could put a penny in his hand, push down, and he would lift up his hand to his mouth and eat the penny, individual-serving Jello cups that we had almost every Sunday we were up there, a spinning easy chair that provided hours of entertainment to bored children, an ironing board that folded out from the wall, and a wood-burning stove that heated the house, making the room it was in 100 degrees while the rest of the house stayed freezing cold. I remember when my dad put a shower head in the bathtub, finally making showers possible, and when the electric heaters were installed around the house, making the wood-burning stove (and the prerequisite chopping of wood and hauling it to the house) no longer necessary. And I can't forget the "sugar drawer," another huge drawer filled with sugar and sugary treats--usually with about 5-6 different packages of cookies sitting on top of the sugar. And at Christmastime she would always make something like 2,000 different kinds of candies. At least that is what is what it seemed like to me. Chocolate covered cinnamon Santas, chocolate almond balls, caramel turtles, taffy, and her famous mints. Grandma's candy was one of the best things about Christmastime (in addition to the huge mini-village she had under the Christmas tree with the train that would go around and around!).

Seven years ago, Grandma Campbell decided to go on a mission with her sister, my great-aunt Clea, also a widow. They went to Nauvoo and spent a year telling visitors about the history of Nauvoo, the pioneers, and the truths of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. A few years later, I went on a mission. Missions are hard. Many days it was miserable. 100 degrees. 400 percent humidity. Wearing a skirt and riding a bike. Sweat dripping down my face and into my eyes. Riding a bike in the rain for half of the year. And some days I would think of my grandma. 82 years old on her mission, she had arthritis, a bad back, and the myriad of other problems that come with being 82 years old after a long life working on a farm. And I never, ever heard her complain about her mission. She loved her mission and the other missionaries she served with and talked about it all of the time. And when I remembered her joy in serving the Lord, it was a little easier to go out in the rain another day.

Grandma, on the left, with her sister Clea after one of the Nauvoo missionary performances

A few years ago my grandma moved into my parents' house--at first into a small room on the first floor, and then, when she came back from her mission, into a small apartment built by my dad that was attached to the house with her own entrance, a bedroom, livingroom, bathroom, and kitchen. Although it was hard for her to leave her house and her independence, she quickly made new friends in the ward, often attending the not-so-young single adult family home evenings, going to the temple, volunteering with the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers, working on family history, and of course keeping up with her mission friends. 

After several years of college busyness, I realized that in my hurry to save the world I still had a lot to learn from my grandma. The few times I escaped from my responsibilities and visited my parents, I would make sure to go in and talk to grandma. I thought my busyness was pretty important--I was finishing college, had several jobs, was working on important papers and projects, and was interested in saving the world. US international policy, starving children in Africa, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Puritan graveyard theology, John Donne's poetry, etc etc--these were all things that I was passionate about. And I would go in to talk to Grandma, and she would show me some hats that she had crocheted for some of her great-grandchildren, or tell me about this great book from Deseret Book that she had just read, or talk about a recent mission reunion. And my priorities in life would slowly fall back into place, helping me to see that a busy life does not always equal a successful life.

Grandma Campbell recently had a massive stroke that completely paralyzed the left side of her body. Several years before, both she and my grandpa had written living wills, asking that they never be kept alive by means of an IV administering food and drink. With the paralyzation as a result of the stroke, she was no longer to eat or drink. We knew that it would only be a few days until she would pass to the other side, so my parents brought her home from the hospital and waited. Every day I would call. "How's Grandma?" I would ask. And each time the answer was the same. "Well, she's still awake, still responsive, still able to hear and respond to what we say." Even in her final days Grandma Campbell accomplished the impossible. It really isn't possible for an 89-year-old woman to live for 12 days without food or water. But she didn't ask anyone if it was possible or not. When we were talking about why she was able to keep going for so long, my mom said that Grandma's body just didn't know how to stop working, because she'd never stopped in her life.

This past Wednesday, after slipping into a coma the day before, my grandma passed peacefully on to the adventures and responsibilities that awaited her in the next life. I'm sure it was a beautiful reunion on the other side as she was reunited with her husband and two of her sons that have passed on, along with many other relatives and friends that have been eagerly awaiting her arrival. 

Often living abroad has its challenges. In the past few years in my journeys abroad, I have missed many family events: 2 baptisms, 2 weddings, 6 births of nieces and nephews, and many other things. When grandma first had the stoke, I told my mom that I didn't want to miss a funeral just a few weeks before I came home. She said that I was going to have to deal with it. My mom always has practical answers like that. What I really didn't want to do was come home to a house without Grandma. But with several vital things to finish up the last week I'm here and 7 flights already booked, not to mention my more-than depleted budget of living on nothing for a year abroad without a job and the cost of changing my flight plans, going back isn't an option. It's heartbreaking to be so far away for illnesses and funerals of loved ones. However, I am buoyed up by the knowledge of the plan of salvation--knowing that because of temple covenants that grandma and grandpa made, that my parents made, and that I have made, I will see her again. And I look forward to that reunion.

Just before Paul the Apostle died, he wrote, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith." I think that verse of scripture describes my grandma perfectly. She fought a good fight, finished her course, and stayed faithful to the end. And when I die, I hope that those who knew me can say the same thing about me. Thank you, Grandma, for your faith and example to me. And hopefully there won't be any chickens to feed in heaven, although I'm sure there will be plenty of things to keep her busy there!