High Expectations

Grandma Kirkham had high expectations. She held herself, her children and her grandchildren to a high standard. I was her sixth grandchild and quite frankly I was always scared of Grandma Kirkham. Some grandmas read books, cuddle, play games and laugh with their grandchildren-not Grandma Kirkham. Grandma worked. Grandma kept the books for the family business and we grandchildren were all expected to work as well. A visit to grandma’s house meant vacuuming, dusting, ironing, sorting papers, or running errands. She always had a list of tasks written on yellow legal paper with unreadable cursive that never ended. We girls kept a time card and were paid for our work. The boys went out with the men and I don’t know what they did but I was always a little jealous because they were away from Grandma.  Although scared of her, I always wanted to impress Grandma. Some of the other grandchildren didn’t always take the list as serious as I did but I wanted her to be proud of me. I would try to complete as much as I possible quickly and efficiently.

When I was eleven I did not complete a task correctly and Grandma became quite upset with me. I felt devastated and told her I wanted to quit. I ran upstairs, called my mom and told her to come get me. I waited on the curb crying. I don’t ever remember crying that long and hard in my life. I had not met expectations.  I was not Grandma’s favorite grandchild before this incident; the event put an even darker shadow on our relationship.  I didn’t work for grandma again for a few years.

When I grew older I tried to mend fences and started working for her one day a week. I did the same sort of chores and ran some errands. I filled dozens of scrapbooks and filed enough momentos and papers to fill a dump truck. As a junior in high school I took the social risk of running to become the high school student body president. My mother helped me to run a successful campaign and I won. I felt as though I had really done something noteworthy. I called Grandma to share the good news. She responded with an uncaring tone, “So, Amy received a solo in the choir today.” I would never be good enough to meet Grandma’s expectations. I once again distanced myself from Grandma.

I started college and grandma’s health continued to decline. When she became very ill and lay in bed my father would allow me to come to her and swab her mouth, walk her to the bathroom and even help the hospice nurse perform her duties. I will never know how Grandma felt as she didn’t really have strength to talk. I desperately wanted to meet expectations. Grandma died a few days after Christmas and I never met her expectations.

I moved on. I served a mission, graduated from college, worked, obtained a master’s degree, married and had a child. My husband was accepted to medical school far away and we went to look for a house to buy. We researched, looked at dozens of homes and spoke with countless people about our next adventure. In a miraculous way we found the perfect home for us. Many others may have seen the home as uninhabitable but my husband and I viewed a dream come true. We didn’t care that it was a mess, had been lived in a by a drunk and sat 13 years, it had a great foundation and location. After my brother and husband refinished the floors and my mother and I had painted the walls (Okay and a few other things too) the house would be a wonderful home. One morning as I was painting I felt a strong emotional impression that it was not by coincidence that we had been led to this home. As tears streamed down my face I realized Grandma Kirkham had worked some sort of deal in heaven to lead my young family to this home. Since moving here I have finally felt her love telling me, “You can meet my expectation.”

 

Family Picture from Easter