An Unlikely Rainbow, God in Her Hands and Family Dinners -In Memorium Helen Tower (1926-1998) The day after my father called to tell me grandma had passed away, I went through book after book, trying to find words fitting enough for the woman who meant so much to me and who had made such a meaningful difference in the lives of her family and friends. Byron, Whitman, Shelley, and my favorites from Shakespeare, none contained an apt phrase capturing the grace of Helen. None of them knew her elegant hands, or her welcoming smile. How she always stretched a meal, made room for one more at her table. How the time I spent with her on North River rd.-- warm, cheerful kitchen, home-cooked aromas, polished oak, braided rugs, willow trees, lilacs, woods blanketed in trillium, playing princess in the bent limbs of the crab apple, all were the best moments of my childhood. And mostly, they didn't know how having her family gathered together for a meal, was one the greatest joys of her life. The next day as I drove to my mother's, I struggled to weave the vivid threads of memory shifting though my head, into a coherent piece. And as is surely inevitable at such times, I wondered how faith and God fit into my grandmother's tapestry. Questions with no certain answers, a bitterness that a women who worked so hard her whole life, and gave so much, why so much suffering in the end? Great Lakes splendor pales in mid-November, the air becomes chill and damp- that day it was no different-- a thin suggestion of rain or snow. As tears filled my eyes, I happened to glance toward the southern sky. Wiping my eyes, I looked again and confirmed what I first thought unlikely-- a small but brilliant piece of rainbow pushing through the gray stratum. And I possessing the heart of an occasional- cynic put my doubts and unnecessary questions away-- God was always in the hands and heart of my grandma: North River road, rattle bump wash board, everyone made jokes about it, but almost nothing, not even a mid-western blizzard, stopped us from coming to Grandma's house for Christmas Eve, Thanksgiving or Sunday dinner. In cold months the fire blazed and the house was overflowing with love and laughter. Grandma was often in the kitchen- no better smells in the world- roast beef, ham or turkey, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, fresh rolls, whole milk and real butter. At Christmas it wasn't Christmas until we had some of Grandma's shrimp Creole and her fruitcake, unparalleled. Last year, I drove to her house in Sturgis and she and I made fruitcake together. We laughed and smiled exchanging stories of good times past. And as I dug my hands into the bowl, stirring the ingredients together, I realized I was learning more than a wonderful fruitcake recipe, here, within my grandma was the recipe that sustained our family, kept us filled with love, made our lives more wholesome. I will forever be thankful for that day with her, and all the others when she poured her heart and gracious soul into every family meal and gathering. She has left us with the best recipe- the certain importance, the certain joy, the certain value in unconditional love for good friends and family. And there was a certain goodness within Helen Tower, though she never felt the need to press or preach it. Instead, with whole heart and both hands unselfishly, with honor, goodness, grace and dignity, she lived and shared it with us. Every generous smile, every time she listened, lent a hand or prepared a meal, in every way she helped make our lives more wholesome. -CK Tower, November 17, 1998