(I wrote this piece last summer as a final project for a Public Speaking class. Elizabeth was born on this date in 1901. Her husband Vincent also had a 29 birth date in December and my birth date is also a 29 - in July. For this little reason and many greater ones, I remember her today...and always.)
It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and in the case of my beloved maternal grandmother, her hands were the doorway to her heart. Elizabeth Labate’s hands mesmerized me.
The Seinfeld episode which introduced the term “man-hands” is somewhat emblematic of Elizabeth’s hands because they were masculine in size. However they were a contradiction because Elizabeth’s hands ended with feminine flourish; they had long and strong fingernails that were usually covered with nail polish. I remember holding those powerful hands and painting those feminine nails when Elizabeth’s arthritis made it difficult for her to do it herself.
Elizabeth’s hands tended to life’s experiences with robust, meaningful purpose. Her hands did what her heart felt.
Elizabeth’s young life knew love, loss and love again. She was one of eight children who were well loved, yet when her mother died, Elizabeth and her younger sister were sent to an orphanage by their immigrant father. The nuns took on the job of raising Elizabeth and taught her many things.
Two things which stand out were her love of the rosary and knitting. Elizabeth found solace in quietly praying the rosary. Her hands would caress those beads and she would be transformed through her meditation as she sought the comfort of prayer. I keep a set of her rosary beads on my nightstand, not because I pray the rosary, but simply because they bring me solace and remind me of her.
While the rosary kept her hands still, knitting moved them in a frenetic motion as Elizabeth made baby bonnets, booties, sweaters, hats, scarves and blankets for family and friends. She even made an afghan for my older brother with a peace sign on it. In the era of peace and love, Elizabeth proved she was hip to the times! She loved the creativity in making these items and, in this manual effort, happily gave of inner herself.
Elizabeth found love and married. Her wedding photo shows a young, beautiful bride whose hands are wrapped around a substantial bouquet of flowers. I marvel at how those young hands look like the same hands I knew so many years later.
Those hands also cradled her three children. In the 1940s, Elizabeth worked in the old Gimbel’s Department store in Philadelphia in, ironically enough, the wrapping department. Her hands would wrap packages to be shipped elsewhere, with some headed overseas to loved ones fighting in World War II. She loved this job because she could talk with families who had soldier sons defending our country. This connection brought her some comfort since her two sons were also soldiers in Europe.
Elizabeth’s hands opened a telegram in November, 1944 that contained news of her son, Pete. He was fighting in Germany and was missing in action. For many months, she and my grandfather waited for news of their son’s fate and in June, 1945 Elizabeth’s hands opened a second telegram confirming her worst fears; Pete had died in battle.
Every night Elizabeth would gently raise her hand to her lips, kiss the tips of her fingers, and lovingly place those fingers on a military photo of Pete that hung at the base of the stairway. I watched her do this many, many times and saw it as a sweet ritual but did not emotionally attach to it. I did not know Pete and I had my grandmother with me, so I did not feel any sadness. It wasn’t until I became a parent that I understood the depth of Elizabeth’s tender gesture. She was doing what every parent loves to do each evening – Elizabeth was kissing her child goodnight.
While Elizabeth ached for her son who was lost in battle, she had no idea she was preparing for a battle of her own when she was diagnosed with colon cancer. Colon cancer was a death sentence in the 1950s. She survived but not without some scars. Elizabeth’s colon and a part of her large intestine were removed and for the rest of her life her hands would have to tend to the results of that surgery. Elizabeth would wake up early each morning and her hands would remove her colostomy bag, irrigate what was left of her bowels, and reattach a new bag for the day. My grandmother showed us that in caring for herself, it was not only a benefit to herself but one to us, because the more her hands tended to her needs, the longer she was in our lives.
Elizabeth loved life! She was feisty and fun. She enjoyed playing bingo and would often take me with her when I was a youngster. I would marvel as I sat next to her and watched her hands glide over what seemed like a hundred bingo cards, seamlessly placing chips on the correct numbers. She would talk with her friends who sat nearby and keep track of her bingo cards effortlessly. She would sometimes let me have a bingo card of my own. I loved that. Elizabeth’s hands would rub my head for good luck (which I never brought her) and her friends would do the same. I bathed in the attention and chatter of this gaggle of women and loved the feeling of belonging.
Elizabeth was also a wonderful cook and baker. She made cinnamon bread year-round but especially at Christmas time, however, she never wrote down the recipe.
So, when I was in my early twenties, she and I spent an afternoon together baking cinnamon bread so I could record the ingredients and instructions to make this sweet treat on my own. I watched as her hands kneaded that dough and bent it to her will. Her strength amazed me and the aroma of the end result was long lasting. I remember thinking, “I want to be able to do that!” Each Christmas I make many cinnamon loaves and give them as gifts to friends and family in honor of Elizabeth’s natural generosity and excellent baking skills.
When Elizabeth was much older, my brother took her to see Longwood Gardens for the first time. It was a chilly day and her arthritis made walking difficult. My brother pushed her throughout the gardens in a wheelchair supplied by Longwood as she covered her legs with one of her knitted lap covers. She was awestruck by the splendor of the gardens and returned home full of wonder at having seen such a beautiful spot.
A week later, Longwood Gardens received a package from my grandmother containing several of her handmade lap covers. She wanted other wheelchair users to have the same comfort she did in the cool temperatures. This gesture was yet another reason Elizabeth was given the nickname by her grandchildren as of “Grandmom Give.” Longwood Gardens, in return, sent a thank you note containing a membership pass to the gardens so she could enjoy future visits at no charge.
A year later, in 1979, Elizabeth died. In her coffin, her hands held rosary beads, knitting needles, a photo of her son, Pete, and her Longwood membership. It was our fervent hope that as she crossed the doorway to whatever lay beyond this life, Elizabeth’s hands would continue to be busy doing the productive work of her generous heart.
(Elizabeth is the subject of a 12/17/11 post about the game of Bingo. http://asubjectforconsideration.blogspot.com/2010/12/b-one.html)
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