Born on May 18, 1894, my Grandma Bea is “older than the state of Utah”! I love it! But something even more amazing and wonderful to me is that Grandma Bea is my own personal link to a greater past - to our steadfast pioneer ancestors who settled in this valley and rubbed shoulders with the early prophets. Through the long span of my grandma’s arms, I have a personal living connection to my faithful family in the early days of the church and what a blessing this has been for me!
When I first came to know Grandma she was nearly 70. In an endearing way, she has always been old to me. And yet, her timeless faith and charm are still alive in me.
My earliest memories of Grandma Bea are in her home, which was right across the street from ours on a hilltop overlooking the valley. Sometimes we would go over to play in her kitchen where there was a wooden pull-out drawer filled with ancient toys. Above the toy drawer was an old black rotary desk phone. Grandma never really expected us visitors, but managed to find something for us to eat when we looked in her barren fridge. The usual offering was from a bottle of apple cider that smelled funny and never seemed to run dry. The other choices were wedges of fresh cucumber, or a stalk of rhubarb from the back garden with salt on it. I had plenty of these.
This back garden was a mystery and a wonder to me. It was completely overgrown with mint and rhubarb plants under the old birch tree which once had a rope swing. There on that back porch my dad tells of Grandpa coming home from work with a plastic toy and declaring that plastic was the way of the future! They had never seen such a thing.
We all knew that grandma’s favorite color was “pea green”. And she had a German cleaning lady named Clara who was also her dear friend. It concerned me that Grandma would save the water from boiling her vegetables, mainly broccoli, in mason jars to chill in the fridge for drinking later. I never saw her drink it, but I’m sure she did.
Grandma’s bedroom seemed so fancy to me, like that of a French lady. I have images in my mind of rich heavy fabrics on her high bed with posts, jewelry, perfume and a wicker chaise lounge. And it was dark...Were there even any windows? Grandma’s room was a place where life stopped breathing and stood still.
The decor of Grandma’s living room was inspired by the beauty of the great outdoors. The floors were dark, probably hardwood at first, like those of the forest, the walls were like the foliage of green plants. And the ceiling was a light blue, like the sky. When I was in the Salt Lake Temple the other day I realized that the feel of the World Room was just like that of Grandma’s living room, having very similar colors and furnishings as well as the same quiet feeling of peace.
My grandmother had “a blue eye”. I have blue eyes too, and in a family of all brown eyed people, I felt lucky to have received such a special gift from Grandmas Vella and Bea. Though Grandma’s earthly vision was weak, I could always count on her clear blue eyes to see into eternity for me. She also helped me see the beauties of nature as she pointed out sunsets and budding flowers and other things likely to be missed. I am grateful for her vision, and for her love for me.
Grandma's hair was curly and metallic red, a condition she maintained at the beauty salon every other week. I’m quite sure she never washed her own hair at home. She always wore her trademark cat eye glasses and a summery dress with a belt. And there was the familiar Kleenex tucked under her expandable watch band for her drippy nose.
I never saw Grandma drive a car but my dad says she had a license. She would walk the few blocks to Martin’s Market or have her groceries delivered to her home. Her order always included two or three bunches of green onions for her famous “Grandma dressing”. And after a half century of daily consuming this onion dressing, Grandma's breath and dentures, and even her whole house seemed somewhat permeated by this sour smell to my young nose.
Among my set of early memories at Grandma Bea’s house are the gatherings we had on Christmas Eve with the extended family. As one of the youngest of their 23 grandchildren, I was invited to sit in the kitchen to eat at a little card table in the corner with the other little cousins. We wore our Sunday best and tried very hard to hold still. Grandma served ham and rolls with tomato aspic “salad’; a tomato flavored gelatin with celery in it, on “beds” of lettuce -- a delicacy I never really understood.
And we listened to what I considered ancient tape recordings of the oldest cousins, particularly Teddy, reciting poetry as young prodigies. There were envelops with money for the kids, packages with tissue paper, primarily from Aunt Joy, and the ever present concern that we not run through the pains of glass on the French doors leading to the dining room Another main event at these parties for me were the shock wars we had with the other young cousins, skating on the carpet with our stocking feet to pick up a charge.
When Grandma was not hosting parties she often had an eye patch over one eye under her glasses. This was fashioned out of folded Kleenex and kept in place with Scotch tape. I later learned that she suffered from a condition called aniseikonia - a visual defect in which the shape and size of an image differ in the two eyes. This would understandable give Grandma headaches and she would often need to rest.
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As I grew into my childhood, BCE grew into what was to be the renaissance of her life. After suffering since she was 20 from debilitating depression, Grandma had become alive to her truest self. Despite decades of the best medical treatments of the day, Uncle Ted explained to me that Grandma’s recovery came naturally, and at long last, with menopause. In a season when other women her age were slowing down and getting ready to sleep, Grandma was increasing in momentum. She learned to type, and she took the bus to the Deseret Gym where she learned how to swim. Grandma attended faithfully her monthly meetings of the DUP, and served as President of the Utah Women’s Republican Club. In this season of her fullness, Grandma also co-authored the much circulated and respected, Cannon Family Historical Treasury.
As impressive as all these things were, the thing that made me the most proud of my grandma was when she tried to learn to water ski at Lake Powell! We watched as Uncle Ted pulled her behind the old pontoon boat. As per instructions, Grandma took hold of the rope and held on tightly. I think my dad was in the water helping to steady her as the boat took off. We all watched in horror as Grandma flipped over and was dragged face down in the water for what seemed like a very long time! She couldn't hear everyone screaming for her to LET GO! Uncle Ted cut the motor, whirled around, and dove in to rescue his aging mother. Surprisingly she seemed just fine. But I don’t think there was a second attempt :)
I thought of Grandma as very cultured. She and Grandpa listened to classical music on old reel to reel tapes which was played very loudly in the evenings in their living room. When they went out, Grandma wore a fancy hat and a mink coat, and a little handbag on a chain over one arm. They met with their monthly dinner group and had season’s tickets to the symphony, the opera and the theater. They were important people who had important things to do and people to meet.
When we were lucky in the summer, we got to go up to the cabin on weekends. This was a magical place for me! Of course, Grandma and Grandpa were always there. Grandpa had official permission from the church to preside at Sacrament Meetings in the big house from the 4th of July through Labor Day weekend.
We would go fishing, catch snakes and frogs and salamanders, and go for rides on horseback, sometimes with picnics to eat by a stream. And we would see the names of ancestors carved in aspen trees. This was where I first became aware of the reality of my ancestors, and of their connection to my Grandma Bea.
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Grandma had won First Place Lady Side Saddle in the Utah state fair when she was just 16, and she sat proudly and erect in her saddle until she was nearly 80 years old. It was she who taught me how to ride bareback, holding on with my knees. Their family had lived in Forest Dale near 21st South and 7th East when she was a girl. They were neighbors to Uncle George M and had “barns and barns” in their paddock, and many gardens to keep. She and her father took rides on horseback around Liberty Park on Sunday mornings. He was her mentor and closest friend.
Grandma’s father was John M, son of Angus Mousley Cannon. “MOsley, not MOUSEly like a little mouse!” He was a respected attorney and developer, who had received his training in Ann Arbor Michigan. As a Counselor in the Granite Stake Presidency, John M was known for his kindness and generosity. “John M Cannon not only loved his neighbor as himself, he loved his neighbor better than himself!” One of Grandma’s wrestles in life was in trying to come to terms with her father’s post manifesto polygamy, which he entered into out of raw obedience and faith - and only to succor the fatherless and the weak.
“Though her eyes were small”, Grandma said of her mother Zina, “her blue eyes would always welcome her children home!” As the mother of 11, whose husband was frequently away on business in other states, Grandma Zina was a gospel scholar who taught the truths of eternity to her family and many others, and put in long hours taking care of her family, home and gardens.
When Grandma Bea was "the ripe old age of 19”, she “receive a letter from Box B” with an assignment to be on the Primary General Board. She traveled the region, in her “official capacity”, “sometimes for weeks at a time”, visiting stake conferences with other general authorities, including and especially, Joseph Fielding Smith, who was, “like a father to me.” After about a year on the General Board, Grandma “had what they called a break down” due to the stress and duress of her assignment, and she went home to rest.
“Up the Weber”, the family built the “Bea’s Nest” for Grandma Bea, a private little cabin where she could be quiet and away from the commotion of their many family members and friends. Grandma’s father and Bennion uncles owned a livestock company and took their sheep up to the mountains every summer to grazed.
Grandma also spent considerable time during this season in St. George with her beloved Uncle David H, who was in the first temple presidency there. He was doting and affectionate, and he and Grandma exchanged frequent letters when she was away. Grandma also traveled to California to spent long periods of time with Aunt Ann M, her father’s sister, who “though she never married was a spiritual mother to us all!”
During this time Grandma Bea’s father also became very sick. I think it would be safe to say that her father’s unexplained illness contributed to Grandma Bea’s condition as well. Together they spent many months trying to regain strength at Aunt Ann’s place near the beach in the California sun. Grandpa Cannon died in his 52nd year of cancer, leaving his beloved Zina a widow. Grandma Bea, as the oldest of their 11 children, was 21.
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As a teenager Grandma reminded me often of what Uncle Richard L. had said, “You stand on the shoulders of giants!” I never doubted this, and pondered my good fortune.
Grandma and Grandpa’s house had undergone a few little changes since I had been a young child. The old rotary desk phone in the kitchen had been replaced by a new fangled, wall mounted phone with buttons, and a very long and tangled cord that reached all the way to the sink. And they owned the world’s first microwave! Grandpa was always on the cutting edge of technology.
Grandma had fungus under her brown fingernails and misshapen toenails. And her hands were so wrinkled that I felt sorry for her. Now my hands look just like hers!
Grandma’s bathroom smelled of lavender soap and everyone knew that she liked to “take her jacuzzis”. Her jacuzzi sat like a firehydrant in the tub, belching bubbles like a pink monster. And despite its rusty bottom and fraying cord, Grandma trusted it completely.
Grandma and Grandpa often had celebrated guests up the Weber over the weekend and to their Salt Lake home for Sunday dinners. I think this was usually Grandpa’s idea, but Grandma always did her best. And as per her upbringing, Grandma served a roasted leg of lamb with fresh mint sauce, with mint from their garden. Also served would be a green salad with Grandma’s signature dressing; lemon juice in a mason jar with two bunches of chopped green onions, and plenty of honey and salt to taste. (At times she added a little vinegar as well.) The broccoli was topped with “broccoli sauce”, mayonnaise seasoned with yellow mustard and dotted with black poppy seeds. For dessert Grandma graciously offered her labor of love; the much celebrated lemon meringue pie with a maraschino cherry on every slice! As the years went by chicken broccoli casserole replaced the mutton and beef on Grandma’s table. Meals were served on china with crystal, linen and candles.
I remember two times when Grandma got frustrated with me. In the first, I was helping to tear up the salad “one slow leaf at a time” for a dinner party that was apparently way behind schedule. I soon learned that one could rip large hands full of lettuce when needed. The other was the time I wore her expensive leather riding boots to hike up the Log Drag, in the mud... I thought that was what boots were for! It pained me to disappoint her.
Grandma and Grandpa were always very frugal, wearing the same old clothes and saving every little sliver of soap to form into new ones in a little mesh bag, Despite this, in their later years they became world travelers. Evans Advertising, an advertising/public relations firm that Grandpa had started during the great depression when he was in his 50’s, had become “the largest advertising agency west of the Mississippi”, with offices in seven cities. It was in their Phoenix office that my dad worked when we lived there for three years.
Grandpa and Grandma shared the gospel and nurtured friendships wherever they traveled. They were great emissaries for the church. And they often took granddaughters in pairs along for the adventure. One year Lark and Cousin Ann spent several weeks with them traveling through the Orient. When Pat and I were 12 and 14 years old we were invited to go with them on a six week trip to Europe! Other girl cousins had similar opportunities. The grandsons were expected to serve missions, and hence would have their chance to see the world.
While Grandpa’s heavy extra suitcase was filled with Tabernacle Choir records and church literature, Grandma had a cucumber and little bottles of OJ in her purse. “I do what I call, wilt”, she would say. She needed to have something on hand for her blood sugar, and would often sit on some stairs or a wall to catch her breath. After all, they were “pushing 80”!
In Europe we visited England, Wales, and the Isle of Man, from whence our ancestors had come. Then we flew to Israel where Cousin Gayle was participating in a BYU study abroad. From there we traveled to Hungary, still a Communist country, where we learned about poverty and generosity as we choked down our fish entrails soup. Then it was off to Austria, Bavaria and Germany with our final stop being to Paris, France. Usually between countries we rode the train. Wherever we went, Grandpa “wanted to go where the local people go, and eat where the local people eat”. a philosophy I readily agreed with.
Grandma and Grandpa usually had grapefruit for breakfast, which they peeled slowly and ate section by section each morning. They claimed it was all you really needed. As growing teenagers, Pat and I felt we were traveling in a semi starving state most of the time, and were grateful when all-you-can-eat continental breakfast was included with the room In the cities, Grandpa would rent a car and write “USA” in red lipstick on the back window. Supposedly, this provided us permission or forgiveness for any driving mistakes we might make. And he loved driving with the windows down. It never felt cold to him :)
Grandpa often exclaimed, “The only good pictures have people in them!” Pat and I were obliged to stand in every one of the seemingly hundreds of pictures Grandpa would take. I was impressed with the rusty German they could both speak, and they used it in many countries to get around and make new friends.
During our teenage years, Pat and I were also invited on many weekend trips to the cabin with Grandma and Grandpa. This was a win/win situation as we would often drive, which helped us all to be safe, and we got to go up to our beloved mountain home. We ate Kentucky Fried Chicken on Friday nights on the way up for dinner. We loved hiking the Log Drag, swimming at the Commissary and riding horses around “the loop” on Sunday mornings, shouting our invitation (just in case everyone forgot) that church was at 11:00.
For breakfast we had Grandma’s famous buckwheat pancakes with orange juice and eggs, and for dinner we had ground beef or fish that Grandpa had caught and had been cleaned in the kitchen sink. (They had the most powerful disposal in the world!) Pat and I knew that Grandma would “forget” her rubber gloves, but we didn’t mind helping. We were grateful to be there.
Grandpa was usually a little bit gruff with us, but we knew that he loved us and that he had our best interest in mind. “If it doesn’t kill you, it’s good for you!”, he used to say about many things, and he would stress the importance of eating whatever food was put before us.
From our bunk beds in the loft bedroom, Pat and I were awakened early each morning to the sound of Grandpa and Grandma let letting out their wind, down in the kitchen. This unlikely chorus never ceased to amaze and entertain us....Their systems were fermenting! We determined never to get old.
On our way down the canyon, if Grandpa was at the wheel, he would pass all the slower cars, honking as he went. This seemed reckless and nerve racking to me. I once asked him why he kept honking and he explained that there were ants on the road and he was warning them to get out of the way :)
In their Salt Lake home, a sizzling dinner of “Salisbury steak” and potatoes was usually served for the two of them, and eaten off of TV trays in the living room. Grandpa and Grandma faithfully watched the McNeil Lehrer News Hour together in silence each night, the red bottle of tomato catsup being passed from tray to tray. When the weather was good, they would take evening walks together. Grandpa had suffered several minor heart attacks and needed his exercise. He would pull Grandma along, who was holding his arm for the speed, and Grandpa would hold a small transistor radio to his ear, which was blaring KSL News Radio. We could hear them coming from way down the street.
Shortly before leaving on my mission to the Dominican Republic, I took my grandparents to St George for a little vacation in their car. They had stopped making the long drive by themselves and I was happy to spend some time with them and be their chauffeur. We visited friends and relatives down the I-15 corridor, particularly in Cedar City, and went to Pine Valley and the nearby national forest to escape the heat. Grandma and Grandpa told me stories from the past all along the way, and they frequently got into what seemed like heated discussions about the details they each knew to be true. Mercifully, Grandma knew how to defuse a tricky situation by sticking out her tongue.
On our way home we passed through Hurricane to Hwy 89 and stopped in nearly every little town along the way to drop in on old “friends”. I doubted that all these unsuspecting people were really friends of theirs, but they all greeted us warmly and I had to wonder. I think this kind of friendshipping is a lost art.
This was one of the last times I was to see my grandparents alive together. Grandpa died as a result of a car accident driving home from the cabin while I was away.
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Grandpa and Grandma had met each other at the old LDS High School where Grandma had served as associate editor of the Gold and Blue. As a writer, Grandma was very concerned about the proper use of words and phrases. “Now we say, I don’t think, when we mean I do think.” And, “How can something be VERY true? Either it is true, or it isn’t!”
Grandpa was married to Grandma on Sept 9, 1920 in the Salt Lake Temple by his mission president, Melvin J Ballard. They were both 26 years old. After graduating from the University of Utah, Grandpa’s three year mission to the Northwestern States began in the fall of 1915, where he traveled in the summer months without purse or scrip. Grandpa also served for a time in the US Army during WW1. He later received an honorary doctorate degree from USU. He was the first member of his family to get a college degree.
Grandpa’s reasons for choosing Bea were mostly practical. They were getting older, and she, of course, “was good stock” with her Cannon and Bennion “blood”, and would “make good babies”, a reason that slightly irritated Grandma, but made sense to her.
Together they had 5 sons. Grandma felt it a privilege every time a “man child” was born to her. I think they all were born at home. “People used to feel sorry for me, that I never had any daughters. But I had five daughters-in-law-and-in love!”
“Woo hoo! Dave!” I loved the way Grandma called for Grandpa whenever she needed him. She relied on him and trusted him almost like a child. In my mind, this both frustrated and delighted Grandpa. As I recall, he called out “woo hoo” to her too as a greeting whenever he came home from work. He went into the office every day until he was well into his 80’s.
Grandma was sick for most of the time her children were at home. And sometimes she was away for long periods of time trying to get well. When she was at home, she and the boys would sit by the fire at night while they read to her and darned socks. Grandpa was in the first bishopric of the Garden Park ward, and was often away. Their family observed family home evening when it was just a pilot program in the church.
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During the car accident that took Grandpa’s life, Grandma suffered only whiplash. However, after not many months, she fell and broke her hip, or did her hip break and then she fell? We were never quite sure. She did show signs of significant osteoporosis in her back and shoulders.
Of her experience, Grandma would often announce that she had “two pounds of steel in her hip”, which sometimes became “two tons of steel!”, and then proceed to tell of her Grandmother, Mary T. Bennion, who “broke her hip several times, and without the aid of medical treatment.” Yet, “She never complained.” Grandma Mary T would teach her family - “It’s not what happens to you. It’s just the way you take it!”
I believe this to be true. I especially liked hearing about this brave great great grandmother of mine. She was one of three polygamist wives of John Bennion. She had broken her hip while walking through the snow to feed the cows in her late 60’s. When Grandma was a girl, Mary T lived, “over Jerden”, and would cross the Jordan River from Taylorsville with her clothes in a bundle on her head to keep them dry. She would walk all the way to their house to visit them in Forestdale. When Grandma Mary T had been only four years old and was living in Yorkshire, England, the Prophet Joseph was martyred. She remembered hearing the neighbors say, “Old Joe Smith is dead! Old Joe Smith is dead! Now you’ll never go to America!” “But they did!” She also found a cannon ball in her garden after the Battle of Nauvoo.
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Grandma Bea’s world “after Dave’s death” was in a different dimension - lived mostly within the walls of her own home and in the corridors of her mind. She had felt sad and alone after Grandpa’s death, and wondered if she could go on. In a way, I feel as if BCE's life was preserved so that I could witness her beautiful spirit and eternal gifts, which were opened wide to my view in her childlike state.
Grandma’s world included her good friends, the familiar books that she pulled off of crowded bookshelves and left around the house. She had read Goethe in German in high school, and studied Shakespeare and the arts. Her other good friends were her memories of family and friends, and she would tell story after story that revealed people’s character and faith.
Grandma was constantly scribbling notes on yellow legal pads to include in future histories to be written, and writing in the margins of every books, indicating whether or not she agreed with what was said or adding important pieces of information.
Rob and I came to live with Grandma in her downstairs apartment in the summer of 1984, just 2 weeks after Ben was born. Grandma said of Ben that he had ”a beautiful ear, just like a seashell”. This downstairs apartment had been a haven for many of our grandparent’s young married grandchildren and relatives throughout the years. In exchange for our rent, we shared our supper with Grandma, kept her calendar and kept her company. We also were responsible for the “light housekeeping”. The brothers took care of the home repairs and the yard. (Mostly Uncles Bob and Ted.)
“Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.” Grandma stood in the doorway or hallway where one would pass through; left hand on hip, Kleenex dangling from the watchband, clearing her throat with a twinkle in her eye. There would be no escaping the inevitable string of stories that was about to begin. It’s a good thing Grandma was so charming! I tried to learn not to be always in a hurry. Sometimes I succeeded.
Grandma’s stories were told verbatim, and with the same animated expressions of delight. For her each telling was fresh and new, many times each day. Uncle Ted told me that she had dementia, characteristic for her age, and not necessarily Alzheimer’s. Grandma’s little stories came in a seemingly random sequence which we memorized. This came in handy, as we knew where the natural breaks for a gentle getaway might be.
“There’s no polygamy in our family, no polygamy in our family!” Grandpa had chided her.
“Dave always told me, you’re a better writer than I am, but you just don’t do it!”
“Bob was a happy child”
“Whether you’re an old car or a new car, when you’re out of gas, you’re out of gas!”
“Peanuts, popcorn, chewing gum and candy!”
“Bones is the framework of the body. If I did not have so many, I would not have so good a shape!”
“Who invented sauerkraut? It was the Dutch!”
“Monday sooooup, Tuesday horse and pepper -- to all our German brothers, we wish the same to you!”
“Sometimes we waste our food when we eat it!“
“It is HIGH to be a judge!”
“Wayne’s hair was the color of a new copper penny.”
‘Ha, ha, ha. Where’s my pa? He’s gone to Washington and won’t take ma!”
“Ted wrote the most beautiful letters!”
“A little Cannon Blood never hurt anybody!” (Quoting Elder Holland, who himself had a little Cannon blood.)
“Could you be true to blue, if brown had smiled on you?”
“Whenever Elder Maxwell spoke, I felt as if he was talking right to ME! “
“That nice young man from Taylorsville” (Bruce Lindsay - KSL TV).
“Oh this wonderful, terrible English language!”
“Now that word fill.... Phil Grant. Where does the word phil come from? Philadelphia, city of brotherly love...”
“Someone once told me, put on some lipstick and look alive!”
In the evenings when we would take Grandma her dinner, she’d be sitting in the living room on her red velvet couch. You could tell how long she’d been there by how far she had slunk down into the cushions, her books and papers all around her. Sometimes her skinny legs in knee-high hose were nearly the same altitude as her shoulders. These were some very long days for Grandma.
“Don’t scald me!” She would say. Sorry, Grandma. I was always surprised at how cool she liked her soup.
Grandma was on her own to get her breakfast and lunch. She usually would “take some yogurt”, and deposite the containers that never went bad in every room of the house. She also still enjoyed her grapefruit and cucumbers. For a treat she would “take” some root beer without ice or macaroons, which my dad would supply for her.
Thanks to her sons, Grandma continued to hold seasons tickets in her old age to the ballet, opera and theater, only now there were three tickets; one for her and two for her married grandchildren who took turns accompanying her. She never used a walker around the house, but she held our elbows whenever we went out. She especially liked holding on to the menfolk.
My dad and his brothers met quarterly to take care of Grandma’s affairs. David F provided legal services and David Seal was their accountant. I was grateful for everyone’s excellent care. Grandpa had set up grants for his grandchildren that helped pay for college and missions, and life insurance for all the newly married couples. My own two semesters in japan were funded by this money, as I think, was my mission. Grandma and Grandpa seemed to like my choices, and grandma especially liked the fact that I was, “trilingual!” I was grateful to be a “Cannon” she could be proud of.
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After we’d been living with Grandma for about a year she had what seemed to be a series of mini strokes. This happened over a period of several weeks. Grandma didn’t appear to know what had happened to her, but her ability to function had been greatly decreased. And it seemed like for some reason she couldn’t hear. I had to yell at close range to be understood. After a few days I saw something dripping out of her ear onto her shoulder and we realized she had a double ear infection. Her hearing was restored with a course of antibiotics, but the effects of the stroke remained.
One day I found Grandma in the bathtub with the water drained. She was unable to get herself out of the tub! She was in good spirits, although wet and cold, and I stepped in to try to lift her out. I had her put her hands behind my neck and hold on tight. We started to laugh as we struggled and fell. She was so weak and slippery, like a giant fish! We were finally able to get her to a sitting position on the edge of the tub and swing her legs around so she could stand.
The brothers decided that if she was going to stay in her home, Grandma would need extra surveillance. They set up an infrared alarm system that went off in our bedroom every time she dropped her foot over the edge of the bed. I think they had no idea how many times Grandma decided to head to the bathroom in the middle of the night! Pretty soon Grandma was sleeping in a hospital bed that had been set up in the living room. And after a few weeks she was taken to a rehab center for more professional care. She had been able to stay in her home as long as possible. I think it was a blessing for her - as it certainly was for all of us.
Grandma’s condition steadily deteriorated in the care center. She had developed pneumonia and her lungs were filled with fluid. It was shocking for me to see her in such a compromised state. The noisy pump by the side of her bed would go off every few minutes in a vain effort to relieve her gurgling respiration. Grandma was drowning within her own self! Somehow she remained characteristically calm in her desperate state. And mercifully, she spent much of her time asleep. I would sometimes see her looking up to the ceiling as if communicating with somebody there.
At last I felt like Grandma’s burden was more than I could bear. We approached Lark and Craig, who had also been involved in her care, and suggested that she be given a priesthood blessing. They readily agreed, and with “the brother’s” permission we went over on Sunday evening to bless her with God’s love, and to offer her release.
When we entered her room it was alarming for me to see someone I love in such a state of complete physical distress. Certainly, we all cared for Grandma deeply, but I seemed to be the only one in the room unable to cope with her situation. Ashamed at my weakness, I quickly removed myself to the hallway outside her door where I plead with the Lord to take her home. “She doesn’t belong here anymore”, I sobbed to him.
After a few minutes, Rob encouraged me to go back in before we left to say a last goodbye. It was all I could do to force myself back into her presence and give her a tearful kiss on the forehead. I expressed my true love to her and we left. Grandma Bea passed away within a day or two of the blessing. We never saw her again in this life.
Beatrice Cannon Evans died on July 12 of 1985, “in her 92nd year”.
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It was my special gift to get to know our Grandma Bea so well. I am grateful for the chance to love and be loved by this shining star in our family! I am a witness to my family of Beatrice Cannon Evans - preserved with lemon juice and honey, she was a woman of faith and a noble daughter of our Heavenly King! She was a living miracle in my life - my own personal ancestry was alive and coursing through her veins. Her love and light are alive in me still. I am ever aware of the strength of her presence, warming me through the veil - bright as eternity!
I love you, Grandma Bea!
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