One of the Greats.

I love hearing about wonderful stories of love, especially when they come from my own family. This is one of my favorite stories. It is about Marie. Marie was my great grandmother. She grew up in France. She was in love with her childhood sweetheart. They were engaged to be married. Marie's sister wasn't quite so happy. She decided to become a mail order bride and come to the United States. Unfortunately, something happened. Just days before my grandmother was to marry her sweetheart, her sweetheart and her sister ran away and eloped. That must have been so devastating. She had been betrayed by the man she loved and by the sister she loved. Not to mention that her father was distraught. Her sister had a contract! She was supposed to marry an American man. He was devastated that his daughter had chosen to disregard the commitment she had made. My Grandma did the only thing she could do. She packed her bags, and took her sister's place on the boat to America. She was on her way to marry a man who she had never seen, never spoken to and never even exchanged a letter with. She would be alone, without a single relative or friend. It must have taken a great deal of bravery to set out on such a journey, knowing that she would most likely never see her family in this life again.

My poor great grandfather must have been so surprised! He had exchanged letters over the months with one woman, only to have her sister arrive instead. He must have taken the whole thing in stride. They were married just days after her arrival. At the turn of the century much of the United states was becoming industrialized, but Marie arrived to a land that was rugged at best. She and my grandfather settled down on his little farm. They grew sugar beets. Over the years my grandparents fell in love little by little. They worked beside each other, for each other. When they needed someone, they leaned on each other. They had 5 children, and buried two of them. My grandfather was their only son. My grandfather died years before I was born, when my dad was a young boy.

I remember visiting my grandma. She was beautiful with her silvery hair, and dainty little hands. We would sit on the floor in front of my mom and listen to her tell stories. She always served us cream sodas in tiny glasses. There were three of us and she split one can of soda between us. She also served us yummy butter cookies on a fancy china plate. She would talk about how much she loved her husband, looking over at their wedding photo on the wall with such tenderness.

Now she is gone, and all I have left of her is my memories and the incredible legacy of love she and my grandfather left. My grandma could have been bitter about what happened to her. It wasn't fair. She could have wrapped a cloak of anger around herself and shut out the world. Instead she opened heart up to the idea that love can grow out of even the most painful of experiences. She embraced it. She left all of the hurt and anger behind in France. What she didn't leave behind was her love for her family. I remember that at times while we were visiting, the phone would ring. Her face would light up and she would say "It's my family!" Sometimes it was her father, or mother, or even her sister. We would hear the beautiful sound of Grandma, conversing in french to the family she loved.




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