my grandma Sheila.

You know how some people are just meant to be certain things? Like this person was meant to be a nurse and this person was meant to be a teacher?

My grandma Sheila was meant to be a grandma.

Her picture is probably next to the word “grandma” in the dictionary.

She was only 56 when I was born, but she’s been a little old lady in my entire memory. White hair, 4’11”, big smile, twinkly blue eyes.

If you lived in or around Arlington from 1931 to 2019ish, you probably knew Sheila. Grandma Sheila did a lot of things in her life - 92 years, after all - but among my peers, her legacy lies in the Arlington school lunchroom. 

Grandma Sheila worked as a lunch lady for years - she was there when I began kindergarten and there when I graduated high school. Her spot was at the dishwasher window. Kids would bring their dishes to the window, and Grandma would greet each and every one of them by name. 

It is a complete mystery to me how she managed to remember the names of hundreds of kids over decades, but she did it.

When I started school, it didn't take long for word to spread the sweet lady at the dishwasher window was my grandma. 

No joke, I became famous by association.

Grandma Sheila passed away earlier this week, and the messages we've been getting are absolutely heartwarming. There are countless notes about how she made someone's day in the lunchroom with her smile; how she always made you feel like you were the most special person in the world. 

When you lose a grandparent, people understand - many of us have lost grandparents, after all. Grandma Sheila passing away has been different. When my other grandparents passed away, people would say things like "I'm so sorry" and "losing a grandparent is hard," which are absolutely fine things to say. But this time, people say, "I'm so sorry! I remember how she used to give me a big hug every time she saw me" or "her smile lit up a room." Everyone knew my grandma, and she knew them. She was everyone's grandma, and how neat is it for us (her kids and grandkids) to hear from all these people with fond memories.

I have no memories of my grandma without a smile on her face. To my knowledge, I have only truly disappointed her one time: by failing to give her a red-haired great-grandchild. She loved Phineas, but the first time she met him, she said, “Oh, I really wanted a redhead!” But with a smile.

the first time they met

Phineas loved her, too. He asked about "gweat gwamma" fairly often, and he was thrilled to see her at family gatherings. Phineas is only three, but I hope he'll have some memories of her. I have an overwhelming sadness that our second child will never meet her, but I also have confidence we've got plenty of stories to paint a picture of who she was.

four generations.

Every year, Grandma Sheila sent birthday cards to everyone she knew who shared her birthday. 

As my dad likes to say, she turned her cinnamon bread into currency. She lived in the small town of Badger, SD for about 25 years, and she paid the guys at the gas station a block away in treats.

When I went to college, she gave me a "magic cookie tin." I was to bring that cookie tin back with me every time I visited home, and it would "magically" refill with cookies.

When I myself am a little old lady, I hope I can be like Grandma Sheila. I trend more towards the “better not go near her house; she’s probably a witch” old lady vibe (which honestly sounds kind of great), but Grandma Sheila was certainly the “oh I love her, she’s always so sweet and has treats” type of old lady. Something to aspire to.

At the end, it doesn’t matter how much money you have or where you’ve been. All that really counts is how you’ve treated people. You would be hard-pressed to find someone who knew my grandma who didn’t feel loved by her. She made everyone feel special, no matter how short the interaction. Even if you met her just once, she remembered you.