My biggest fear as I was learning to drive was not that I would crash or not know what to do, but would I be able to find my way to my Grandma and Grandpa Herrmann’s house by myself. This was when in-vehicle GPS’s were relatively new and incredibly expensive and Google Maps on a cellphone had yet to be invented. My grandparents lived in East Peoria and I was driving from Pontiac, where I grew up. After obtaining my license, driving locally for some time, and memorizing the route on family trips, I finally decided to give it a try. I had a softball tournament in East Peoria and was staying with Grandma Myra and Grandpa Ed for the weekend. I was so confident that I would get there that I picked up flowers for Grandma in Germantown Hills and successfully delivered them after roughly an hour of nervous driving. Grandma was so excited to see me that day. She always was excited to see me.
I have the best memories of my Grandma Herrmann; she always had a story to tell. Of growing up on a farm in Cissna Park with her brother, two sisters, and parents. Of playing softball and cheerleading in high school. We shared a love of chocolate, cold cereal and a snack after dinner. I know that my experience with her may be different from others, but when she sat down to teach me something, she was always patient, firm, but caring, and genuinely happy to have me around. She could always be found crocheting blankets for family members’ new babies. From her chair in the den, she lovingly created gifts for those she loved. When I was about 11 or 12, she attempted to teach me, but being left-handed presented a few problems. Of course she didn’t let that stop her. She sat across from me at their kitchen table and had me mirror her movements with the yarn and crochet hook. As it turned out, I was not very good at this particular pastime, but to this day, I am the proud creator and owner of a 1-by-12 inch-long homemade crocheted “blanket.”
Grandma Herrmann gave the best hugs. The ones that ended with my face cupped in her hands and smooches all over my face. During these moments, while trying to continue breathing, I would always hear, "you made me a grandma." She managed to state this fact to me through whispers during hugs, or in notes on birthday cards, whenever she got the chance. I remember hearing the happiness in her voice and pride that came with it. As I have gotten older, I am proud as well; proud to have provided her with the title "Grandma" (though I did little work to earn it).
If I were to walk past my grandma today at her nursing home in Peoria Heights, she wouldn’t recognize me or know my name. She hasn’t known my name for several years now, her memory having been completely fogged from dementia. When she first started showing signs of memory loss, I gifted her a book that she could fill out for me: Grandma’s Stories. From her oldest memories to her favorite Bible verse, she wrote down her life story in her own beautiful handwriting. On one of her last visits to me before she could no longer travel, I pulled out the book and read parts of it to her. She recognized her handwriting, but could not understand how it had gotten into that book. I read to her several of the passages she had so carefully written on the pages and she nodded along, adding some commentary here and there, laughing, crying, experiencing every story as if it were somehow brand new. Before COVID, when I would visit, I would introduce myself to her, remind her I am her granddaughter, and if I was lucky to get a hug, I would always whisper to her “I made you a grandma.” Over the course of the visit, I would gently remind her who I am, acknowledge the lack of recognition in her eyes, and continue to reintroduce myself to her over and over again as needed.
While the decline due to dementia has been incredibly heartbreaking and painful, I will always have the memories we share to look back on. I am so thankful for her love of taking pictures, so if my own memory starts to get fuzzy, I will have those pictures to look back on and remember my Grandma Herrmann and her hugs, her smooches and the pride in her voice when she whispered to me, "you made me a grandma."
• Bethany Zavada is a resident of Streator and English teacher at Putnam County High School. She loves to geocache with her family, cuddle her three adorable dachshunds and all things Harry Potter. She can be reached at tsloup@shawmedia.com.