Bonnie Waite. A woman with many titles. Mother, sister, wife, grandmother, great-grandmother, and Child of God. Who lived her life in a way that showed me it was possible to smile through the hard times. Marrying her sweetheart Glenn Waite, at a young age, they were able to create a beautiful family of 6. Three sons and a daughter. Raising them to be kind, generous examples of Christ-like love, and Bonnie was a perfect example.
To me she was great-grandma. A 5’ 2”, permed-haired, fireball of laughter. Who never went a day without her lipstick and always had her nails done. Growing up, she lived right down the road, directly across the street from my kindergarten. Luckily for me, that meant a lot of afternoons at her house. We’d bake cookies, play with toys, and watch old movies in her living room. She nurtured my love for baking, and always made it fun. We’d experiment with flavors and make messes just to end up sitting on the kitchen floor, covered in flour, eating cookie dough straight from the bowl. One thing my great-grandmother isn’t was predictable.
Painfully, due to health, safety, and convenience reasons, she and my great-grandpa moved to Saint George while I was in middle school. Our weekly visits abruptly ended and our only form of communication was either a few text messages or phone calls when she could figure out how to work her phone, or the two or three times a year my family would go up there to see them. My heart was shattered. I missed my best friend, my baking buddy, my cheerleader. Soon I found myself recreating scenarios from my childhood just to feel close to her. I would teach my younger cousins her recipes, or at least try to, most of the time we would find ourselves eating the batter, covered in flour, laughing at our failed attempt to make a treat. It took me many attempts to recreate those scenarios to finally realize what she was teaching me in the first place.
It was never about the treats, or the messes, however fun they may have been. It was about the joy in unusual things. Instead of being upset that I spilled flour on the counter or cracked the egg shell into the bowl, she would laugh and spill some more flour, or crack another egg this time with more shells in the bowl. I was never chastised for my mistakes but rather praised for trying in the first place. She knew much better than I did that life is far too serious as it is, and the last thing we need to do is get upset at things that do not need to be negative. Unfortunately, my biggest experience with that knowledge came from a much harder trial.
December 29, 2021. To everyone else in the world, it was just a typical Wednesday. The cold air of Las Vegas winter finally allowed for some relief from the heat of summer. Many children still had toys from Christmas to unbox, and leftover reindeer-shaped cookies to eat. I, however, had my best friend's funeral to attend. Except, I had a task.
You see, almost two years before her passing, during one of our few visits a year, I was handed three pieces of paper. Looking down on them I realized that it was sheet music for a song from the movie Forrest Gump. I gazed back up at her, expecting a grim frown as I knew what she was going to ask, but I was taken aback when I saw her beaming from ear to ear. She asked me to play this song at her funeral, and my great-grandmother was not a woman who took no for an answer.
I didn’t practice the song for almost a year, out of my own selfishness. I refused to believe that my great-grandmother would one day die. I finally tried, in October of 2021, for I knew her time was close. As my fingers danced across the keys, each stroke of a note felt like a step further and further away from her. I couldn’t play this song, it hurt to much.
Then it happened.
I received the phone call that my precious great-grandmother had passed away and arrangements for the funeral were being made, and I was being asked to play this song. I knew it was time, and I practiced and practiced until I could play the song with my eyes closed.
The day of her funeral came and I got up alone and walked to the piano. Where I sat down and started to play. Except someone was sitting beside me. It was her. She was helping me. She knew I could do it and was helping me execute the song exactly how she wanted it to be played. My fingers flowed along the keys, while my mind filled with twinkling memories of my beautiful great-grandma. I played the last note and went back to my seat. I have not played that song since.
Feather Theme was the song, and to many people, that is all it is. A song. However, to me, it is a memory. It is my own personal gift connection to her. She taught me that life is messy, it’s hard and sometimes the things we want aren’t the things we need. She was kind and never let anyone go home with an empty stomach. She was everyone's great-grandmother. She showed me the joy that comes from messes. The laughter that can come from tragedy. I will never live up to her legacy, and I would be doing her dishonor if I ever tried. However, the greatest thing that she ever taught me, is that love is not just a feeling. It’s an action. She taught me to love others and to love myself. In the words of my exquisite great-grandmother, “I love you, a bushel and a peck”.
Until we meet again.
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