The Growth Doorway

“Growth is an often missed and unmarked thing, yet surely and utterly undeniable.” -Danielle Roach 

For as far back as Katherine Scott could remember, she and her siblings had visited her Grandma Nellie in the hills of Oregon every summer, and it was the most exciting event of the year for Katherine. Amid the memories of playing in the yard, eating grilled cheese, selecting candy from a flower-patterned tea pot, and running around like crazy with the cousins, Katherine would remember one very specific memory during her last visit to see Grandma Nellie. 

The Growth Doorway. 

Every summer that she and her siblings had visited, Grandma Nellie would measure their height on the front entry-way doorframe of the 1970s-style home. And every summer, Katherine would be a little bit taller and, of course, a little bit brighter in the eyes of Grandma Nellie. 

“You’ve grown so big!” Grandma would exclaim. 

  And that is why Katherine boarded a plane in Minneapolis within twenty-four hours of hearing that Grandma Nellie wouldn’t be “with us” for much longer. She’d sat down by a window seat, watching the snow-covered ground soon turned into fur-covered trees as she approached the northwestern coast of the United States. The words “cancer” and “chemo” and “didn’t react well to treatment” spun around in her head over and over again, making her wish things were different. After landing at Portland International Airport, Katherine’s dad met her at the curb of the baggage-claim level. 

“Good flight?” He asked as he gave her a hug and put her travel case in the trunk. 

“Yeah, it was good,” Katherine answered and climbed into the passenger-side door.  

The ride was full of familiar catching-up for the first half, and for the second half Dad spoke about his mother and what Katherine could expect. “She’s not doing well, you know? We’ll see her tonight, but she may not be able to talk much.” 

Katherine had nodded and listened to her dad speak as they drove through the winding roads of suburbia Portland. Past the Colombia and the Willamette rivers, the exit off of interstate 5, and through the neighborhood where Grandma Nellie had lived for over forty years. They drove past the house that she no longer owned and saw that it had been remodeled almost entirely by the new homeowners. 

“Thought you might like to see it,” Dad said, slowing as they drove by. 

Katherine smiled and sighed, “Looks different, but the pathway is the same. You know, the one we colored with sidewalk chalk like a rainbow every summer.”  

Dad chuckled and nodded. Katherine could see the glistening in the corners of his eyes.  

Katherine thought to herself of the home and all that had changed on the outside. Had the inside been remodeled too? Had the doorway that logged years and years of growth been erased in moments by a fresh coat of wood-finish and polish? She supposed it had been, and the thought of it was difficult to bear at first. But then a new thought crossed Katherine’s mind. Perhaps The Growth Door wasn’t simply ink markings on a door, but maybe it was also an illustration of life itself. It was a lesson from Grandma that people are growing every year, every day, every hour. A lifelong lesson.  

With this newfound thought putting more meaning to Grandma’s tradition, Katherine found that thinking about it was all at once more enlightening. Putting pieces together of what growth really meant suddenly seemed to fall into place. For years and years, the grandchildren had been the ones to grow. But in an entirely subtle and unbeknownst way, Grandma had been growing, too. They hadn’t marked her spot on the wooden beam. They hadn’t thought to see if she’d gotten taller or shorter. She was done growing, wasn’t she? “Grandmas don’t' grow,” Katherine had laughed when she was 8 years old, giggling as Grandma stood, back up against the doorframe, offering her granddaughter the pen. 

But 8-year-old Katherine had been wrong. Grandma’s do grow. And her grandma had truly aged and grown in a most beautiful way. Vibrant red hair eventually transformed to a very soft and gentle gray. Her face became more mature in its years, showing progression of the most perfect smile lines by her eyes. But her growth had been more than simply cosmetic. Life experiences, joys and sorrows had helped grow and shape Grandma into the woman she became. She had grown when her father died, leaving a daughter without a dad at only fifteen years old. She’d grown when she’d married and brought children into the world. She learned to grow even when her husband had served in the Vietnam war. And as she learned and processed and continued to live, Nellie had grown into an image of grace and joy, reflecting a kindness that permeated deep from within. The sort of growth that comes with life well-lived, even in situations that make it a challenge to grow. 

Yes, there was much more to The Growth Door than Katherine had ever considered before. 

Shaken from her introspecting as Dad parked the car, Katherine stepped out into the fresh Oregon air and followed her dad to the front door of the hospice clinic. He led her down the hallways to room 804. When Katherine first saw Grandma Nellie upon entering, she was lying down in a standard, clinical bed. It looked as though she was asleep as Katherine slowly took steps to her bedside and placed her hands on her grandmother’s arm.  

“Hi, Grandma,” she started with gentleness, “how are you?” she asked, immediately wishing she could retract those words, knowing obviously that grandma wasn’t well. Pushing the embarrassment aside and hoping none of the present family members thought her a fool, she sat down and studied her. 

Nellie’s face was tired and gaunt, and she hadn’t said hello when her granddaughter had come in, a result of her deep slumber. Her chest moved up and down in no particular or steady rhythm. She held a yellow stuffed animal dog with a pink ribbon around its neck, a gift from Grandma’s eldest daughter. 

Grandma Nellie did not wake up that evening and Katherine’s stay was brief.  She rode with her dad to a cousin’s house where she would spend the night. It was a restless sleep, but when dawn arrived and Dad was once more there to drive her to the clinic, she felt awake. They grabbed coffees for the family members already at hospice and then made their arrival. When Katherine entered Grandma Nellie’s room that morning, she was surprised to see that grandma had been moved to a chair and was sitting up.  

Immediately, Katherine walked to her and knelt down. 

“Katherine came to see you, Mom,” Dad had said. 

“H-ii, Kath-er-ine.” 

The response had come from Grandma Nellie. Though it had been strained and stuttered, she had said it beautifully in Katherine’s mind and she grabbed hold of grandma’s hands, “Hi, Grandma!” 

Nellie smiled at the sound of her granddaughter's voice.  

“You have a beautiful smile,” Katherine said happily.  

But Nellie did not say anything more, and she very shortly gave way to sleep. 

The remainder of the day was spent with many family members gathered in Grandma Nellie’s hospice room. Many memories were shared that had been forgotten by some and remembered well by others. Katherine noted that no one talked about The Growth Doorway, but she didn’t mind. To her, the fact that everyone had memories and histories were proof itself that all of them had grown. And in a profound way, Nellie’s Growth Doorway somehow tied everything together for Katherine that day. 

As the hours continued, Grandmother would occasionally stir, but it was apparent that she was in her last hours of life as her stirrings never amounted to much. 

“Doing, okay?” Dad had asked and put his arm around his daughter. 

“Doing okay,” Katherine had said and squeezed him tight.  

As the daylight hours began to turn to night, the family members said goodbyes one by one before leaving the hospice facility. Katherine watched as daughters and sons, nieces and nephews, grandchildren and great grandchildren said final words and gave last hugs and kisses. And all Katherine could think of as she watched the emotional display was all of the people whom grandma had been there for throughout the years. She had had helped each one of them through thick and thin and, through all of it, had helped them each to grow. 

“You are the best grandma,” Katherine mustered through choked tears when her time came to say goodbye. “Thank you for helping me grow.” 

Later that night, Katherine was awakened by a knock on her door and a voice informing her that Grandma Nellie had passed away into her final rest. Her days of current growth were now over, and she was very peaceful in the end, they had said. 

The hearsay of a peaceful passing struck Katherine the most as she began the process of grieving. Though she could remember plainly the grim pallor of Grandma’s face, the weakness of her voice and her great decline of capability, Katherine was still able to see the beauty of the wonderful and very full life Nellie had lived. And amidst all of the painful emotions that washed over Katherine in those days, was a memory. 

A memory of a doorframe marked by growth. 

And Katherine thought, happily. 

Maybe grandma’s not done growing yet. Maybe she’s only just begun.