My grandmother is the toughest person I know. She's 83.
What my grandmother has taught me about dedication and grit, and what we have to learn from the silent generation.
My grandmother, Jackie Cornette, is the toughest person I know - and she turns 83 on Monday.
I realized I needed to write this piece a few weeks back when I visited my grandmother’s house in Florida. I watched her care relentlessly for the needs of my dying grandfather, her husband of sixty-three years. I posted a Note about her joyful spirit, observing her kind expression of admiration at the accomplishments of
:Among others, Jeannine very graciously took the time to respond to the above note. I showed my grandmother the thread and she read each comment with a warm smile.
“That’s encouraging,” she observed. Then she set the phone aside and picked up her worn leather Bible.
When I was in the fourth grade, I was directed to write a short book on a relative I admired. I chose my grandmother because, frankly, I was closer with her than any of my other grandparents. The project opened my young eyes - I learned about the immense hardships my grandmother faced as a young person, the grit she developed, and her innate desire to persevere. But a year after I put my little book together, it was added to my bookshelf and forgotten amidst my vast childhood memories of American girl dolls, dance recitals, and - most notably - a full stomach.
When I was hungry as a kid, there was always food on the table. My grandmother didn’t have that luxury.
Jackie was born in February 1942, smack in the middle of World War II. Her father, George Thomas Goodson, died in a trucking accident before she was born. Her mother, Edith, passed away when she was eighteen - just one year before she married my grandfather, Cuthbert “Cubby” Cornette (and isn’t that just the most epic name you’ve ever heard?).
My grandmother grew up with her mother, stepfather, and seven siblings in a poor coal mining town in Scuddy, Kentucky. Cancer-causing coal dust hung steadily in the air and men died regularly in the mines, but the people were a tough, hardworking sort of folk. My grandmother says that’s how you had to be to survive then. She says you couldn’t afford to be any other way.
She spent her summer hours doing chores and manual labor. Her least favorite chore, which she recalls to this day, was cleaning the inside of glass jars so that the family could reuse them for canning food. Since her small arms could fit inside the jars (and the adults’ couldn’t), Jackie was often stuck with this task for days on end.
While Jackie’s childhood made her tough, she was determined to find a way out of Kentucky, where the only job opportunities around were coal mining or working for the government. After having their first child, she and Cubby moved to Ohio, where he’d landed a good job. For the move, Jackie had to give up her teaching job in Kentucky - a job where she’d made next to nothing, for she spent nearly all of her small salary on books and utensils for the poor students she taught.
After sixty-three years of marriage, most of them spent in Ohio, Cubby and Jackie have four kids, seven grandkids, and five great-grandkids. As my grandfather’s health declines, my grandmother’s dedication shines like never before. While in Florida, I watched her feed him, give him his medications, help him move, get him dressed, shop, and do all the house chores by herself. She is strong and accomplishes the things she puts her mind to.
Here’s the thing. Life is hard. Really hard. But when I get tired of relatively small things, like working tirelessly on my writing or my Substack, I remember my grandmother. When I get discouraged by silly things like numbers on a screen, I remember that she remembers when the TV was first invented. She remembers having to use outdoor toilets and heat up buckets of water to get kids to take a bath. She remembers the invention of dishwashers and how the girls that went to school with her made their skirts from repurposed food sacks. I take so much for granted, and when I remember her grit I am inspired. Inspired to try, to persevere, and - most importantly - to never give up.
I asked my grandmother what she feels is the single most important lesson we can learn from the silent generation. It took her less than ten seconds to respond.
“Our community was tighter,” she said. “We’d hear a loud whistling siren at the top of the hill, and it meant somebody’d died in the mines. We didn’t have much, but we’d make the family a meal and go to the home of the dead and mourn with his widow. If you suffered, everyone would console you.”
To deeply love and care for your neighbor is a valiant lesson indeed.
I’m making it my goal this year to love my neighbor well - whether in person or online. That includes you, Substack readers. If I can help you, let me know. You don’t have to face hardship alone and you don’t have to pursue freelancing alone. I’m so blessed that you’re here - thank you for encouraging me, supporting me, and cheering me on.
❗Fun Fact: When my grandmother was a teen, she recalls that ice cream cost 5 cents a scoop and gas cost 33 cents a gallon! Wow!
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You're a good person Emma, with a big, big heart. You care for and value the things in life that really matter. I'm seventy so when I remember my grandparents (and parents) it's in the same way. Respect, admiration, appreciation and thankful for the life lessons I learned from them. This was a beautiful dedication to your grandmother, thanks for sharing. - Jim
Beautiful story, Emma! What a sweet way to honor your grandmother.