Albert Frans Easton and Maria Alexina Svensson, my paternal grandparents, were married in Tacoma, Washington on March 1, 1906. How their romance began is anyone's guess but the bond of their love abided for 53 years, 8 months, and eight days when Mary died. Their mutual devotion bore five children and they witnessed with joy the births of six grandchildren, myself being the youngest.
Regrettably, my memories of Grandad and Grandma are few. Indeed, I have only a single memory of Mary. During that very early season of my life, my family would make the journey across Puget Sound to visit my grandparents. I sense that the trips were usually on a Sunday afternoon. We were living in Bremerton, Washington while Albert was staying at a "rest home" in Everett, Washington. Of course, Mary was there as well. But she was confined to a "nursing unit" within the same facility. Mary had suffered a series of strokes years before and her condition had deteriorated to point that the family could no longer care for her at home.
Now strictly bedridden, I recall standing next to her bed with my Mother's hand resting gently on my shoulder and then Mary gesturing for me to come closer. Her mouth was contorted, her speech slurred beyond recognition, and I have a lingering impression of an unpleasant odor. I'll always be bothered by the fact that I felt uncomfortable in that moment and that discomfort led to hesitation. Nonetheless, Mom's hand gently pressed me forward. I hope I mustered a smile. In the end there was a hug totally lacking in grace but a hug regardless. Perhaps the best hug of my life if not the most enduring.
Albert spent much of his days at Mary's bedside. But his room was in another wing of the facility which provided meals and a temporary refuge from the weight of unwavering commitment. His living quarters seemed tiny to me even then with most of the space filled by the single bed. The sense was somewhat stark, even drab, save for one item. Opposite the door, the outside wall contained a single window with a lamp in front of it. The lamp was huge and dwarfed the table upon which it rested. Now the lamp was Grandad's pride and joy. In fact it was the physical manifestation of his imagination and he built it, ground up, himself. It seems that with each visit, Albert would proudly point out to my parents new parts that he had added since our last visit. The lamp was constructed mostly of plastic - plastic being yet somewhat of a novel commodity in the mid 50's. I recall one translucent plastic cup, deep burgundy. Then a bright yellow saucer followed by some sort of blue bottle cap and a multitude of other objects with varying shapes, sizes, and gaudy colors which are less vivid in my mind's eye. Albert had also incorporated glass prisms into his creation. As the sun moved through the day subtle hues clothed the adjoining wall and ceiling. Multiple arcs banded together creating ever changing patterns. That fascinated me.
Mom and Dad would often talk about the lamp when Grandad was out of earshot...."What can we do with that lamp? It's becoming a monstrosity." To my young ears, the lamp had obviously become a very special family heirloom.
On November 9, 1959, Mary died.
Not long after, Albert moved out of the "rest home" and lived out his days in comfort until his sudden death on February 14, 1966.
The fate of the lamp is unknown. But this I wonder.....I do not know. How many nights, in the quiet and dark of that solitary room, did Albert flip the switch to that lamp, gaze at the ceiling, and whisper prayers of thanks and supplication?
Promises spoken. Covenants rooted in eternity. Each moving through time yet established immutable. Sources of hope. Foundations of comfort.
Genesis 9:12-13
"This is the sign of the covenant that I make between Me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set My bow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between Me and the earth."
