Gentle Jean

One of the songs on the Chicago Chamber Choir's spring concert program is an arrangement of Stephen Foster's "Gentle Annie." It's a beautiful arrangement of a stirring song, prominently featuring the tenors and accompanied by guitar. I think that song is my favorite moment in our spring concert. According to Timm, our gifted and talented director, the song was written for Foster's grandmother.

After our first performance of this program, I was talking to my mom on the phone and telling her how much I think she'd enjoy this music. It's all lovely early American music, which is right up my mom's alley. When I told her about our arrangement of "Gentle Annie," Mom told me that the song reminds her of her mother, my Grandma Jean, who died almost 12 years ago.

Mom is totally right -- the song's description of a kind, sweet, gentle woman who is sorely missed by her loved ones is pretty accurate. She was devoted to her family and showered attention and love on her numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She never missed a band concert, a tee-ball game, or a wrestling match. While her health still allowed it, she shuttled us kids to and from marching band rehearsals and took us out for Taco Bell -- a special treat indeed.

Grandma Jean was an excellent nurse. She believed that those who have experienced a great deal of physical pain are better equipped to have compassion for the suffering of others, which made her extremely qualified indeed to be a compassionate person. Grandma Jean was a young girl in the late 1920s when her osteogenesis imperfecta reared its ugly head, leaving her bedridden in body casts due to badly broken legs. It's a wonder she was able to recover from those injuries. When I suffered similar broken bones in my childhood, I spent long stretches of second grade in the hospital where Grandma worked. She always came to visit me on her breaks, bringing me treats and bullying the pediatric nurses who weren't as compassionate as they might have been.

I think every one of Grandma Jean's grandkids felt like they shared a special relationship with her. In my case, we had a common love of literature. Grandma Jean and I would discuss Jane Austen, Willa Cather, and Dostoevsky. Shortly before she died, she gave me her (much-coveted) copy of the complete works of William Shakespeare, a worn and fragile tome that once belonged to her grandfather. It is one of my most prized possessions.

Sure, Grandma Jean had her raucous side. She was nigh unbeatable at Balderdash and a worthy opponent at Trivial Pursuit. She was a passionate liberal; regular visitors to this blog with infer that most of the apples in this family didn't fall far from the tree. Near the end of her life, she advocated legalizing marijuana and prostitution so they could be regulated and taxed. I learned new curse words by watching Rush Limbaugh with her, and you don't want to know what that woman had to say every time Bob Dole showed up on C-SPAN.

Bob Dole figures prominently in one of my favorite memories from those last few days, when Grandma Jean's cancer was spreading fast and we all knew the end was near. A group of family members was gathered in Grandma Jean's bedroom, talking softly as she slept. Suddenly, Grandma woke up and exclaimed, "Bob Dole is in the house! Bob Dole is in the house!" She was clearly distraught, so we all tried to calm her down. "No, no, Grandma! He's not here! Why would Bob Dole be in our house?" Finally, my aunt Sherry said, "No, I think Bob Dole is in the Senate."

Even after all these years, Grandma Jean leaves a hole in our hearts and our lives. I'm so glad she met Airan before she died, and I'm heartbroken that she wasn't alive to meet Evelyn and Sophia. I wish the twins had this amazing woman in their lives -- I take comfort in the knowledge that they have many excellent grandparents and great-grandparents to love and spoil them.

At Friday night's CCC concert, I had a hard time keeping it together while we sang "Gentle Annie." I imagine our final concert on the 15th will be just as hard. But I'm so glad I could call this wonderful woman my grandmother, and I'm glad to honor her memory now.

Gentle Annie
by Stephen Foster

Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie,
Like a flower thy spirit did depart;
Thou art gone, alas! like the many
That have bloomed in the summer of my heart.

Shall we nevermore behold thee;
Never hear thy winning voice again --
When the Springtime comes, gentle Annie,
When the wild flowers are scattered o'er the plain?

We have roamed and loved mid the bowers
When thy downy cheeks were in their bloom;
Now I stand alone mid the flowers
While they mingle their perfumes o'er thy tomb.

Ah! the hours grow sad while I ponder
Near the silent spot where thou art laid,
And my heart bows down when I wander
By the streams and the meadows where we strayed.