Margaret Kline always said she wanted to marry a farmer. She loved telling the story of how she rode the Snow Train to Alpena from Detroit for the winter carnival. Spending time as a girl on her relative’s farm gave her visions of living on her own farm. After meeting Grandpa upon arriving in Alpena, who was their carnival chauffeur and a cousin of one of her girlfriends, Grandma waited for Grandpa to ask her to marry him. In her sing-song voice, she recounted the courting letters from Grandpa that had little tokens inside that he found on the farm. A feather from a bird. A small flower. I could never imagine my tough-as-nails Grandpa as a romantic.

She worked at Michigan Bell in Detroit when she was young. Her elegant hands danced around in the air as she told of important meetings and taking dictation, writing notes in shorthand, so she could draft press releases. She had to make copies of letters using carbon paper in the typewriter. She explained the importance of elocution, using proper grammar, and how women used tea bags to stain their legs and draw a line up the back to make it look like they were wearing stockings during war rationing years.

I don’t know that farm life was all that she thought it would be. From the outside looking in, a rosy glow surrounds the orchards, hay fields and calves in Springtime. From the inside looking out, the days are long, the responsibilities are heavy, and the intermittent solitude of country living can, at times, be deafening. Despite everything, she was always cheerful and bright. Being the oldest of the grandchildren, I had many years with Grandma. Her youngest children are only about 10 years older than I am. Grandma was a central figure in my life, a constant.

As I grew older and took up an interest in writing, Grandma and I worked together at The Alpena News. Working alongside my Grandma is one of my best work experiences. No matter how many times I forgot when to — or when not to — put an apostrophe in “its,” she would gently remind me and explain the difference, as if she hadn’t already told me eight times that month.

Late one evening, my brother and I sat at her dining room table in the farmhouse built by my Great-Grandpa. A digital audio recorder perched between us, Grandma talked about her sisters and grand ballrooms she had seen when she accompanied her sisters to events in Detroit. She talked about her Slovakian mother, who had come to America through Ellis Island, and her father, who was orphaned and worked in lumbering camps around Europe before coming to America.

When I graduated high school, Grandma planned a trip for us. Grandma and I spent a great amount of time at Thunder Bay Theatre watching plays. Having recently taken to Shakespeare, she was overjoyed to take me to Stratford, Ontario, a place with many theaters featuring the works of Shakespeare. The two of us drove there one hot summer. I think my driving terrified her. At the border crossing on the way home, the guard asked if we had purchased anything while in Canada. Grandma quickly and seriously said, “Yes we did. I bought tooth floss. Hold on, I will get you the receipt.” The guard cracked up laughing and waved us on.

A social person, she loved playing Scrabble and Pinochle. She was always asking questions and looked to include everyone in her conversations. I remember meeting her at the Senior Center for lunch once in a while. She loved to visit with people and always introduced me enthusiastically to her friends. This is the Grandma I know. Always honest, intelligent, adventurous, and working toward humble improvement. She raised eight children with the same values.

My last conversation with Grandma ended with her saying she was tired and had no good stories. She was so proud of her family. She missed her Alvie, my grandpa who passed in 1999. She raised a family that was inclusive, loving, and supportive of one another and this, as the priest said during the mass homily, was her legacy.

“I wonder what Alvin will say when he sees me?”

Two days before her last breath, Grandma asked this question during a phone call with my Great Aunt. Grandma knew it was time. The passing of a loved one is never easy, but faith of spirit ensures that our loved ones live on through every person they’ve met, in every memory, and through every story. A legacy doesn’t have to be a building or a bequest. Sometimes the most important legacy a person can leave behind are their stories, their children, and the love they shared.