Ruth Craig (Haglund)

Probably just a day or two after Mom died, I was helping Dad get Mom’s temple clothes ready for dressing her body for the burial. Dad noticed that the soles of her temple shoes were dirty. He dampened a rag and carefully wiped the dirt off, so the soles of her shoes would be clean. Often when I go to the temple and am putting on my temple shoes, I see Dad standing beside the big laundry tubs in the basement at 611 Canyon Drive lovingly cleaning Mom’s shoes, one of the last acts of physical service he did for her before her burial.

In late 2000, after Mom had fallen--the fall she never recovered from--she had surgery and was in the Payson Hospital, it was my night to come to the hospital and stay with her, so Dad could go home and rest. That day, Mom and Dad had been telling the nursing staff the story of their meeting, courtship and wedding. Of course, the nurses had loved hearing about it all, no doubt asking for more and more details. Remembering, retelling and reliving those moments had gotten Mom wound up so that she couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t stop talking. She said to me at one point, “Tell the nurses we have a wedding going on in here!” At a later point in the night, she woke from a light doze, turned to me with such a loving expression on her face, and said, “I can still remember the train pulling into the station at Ogden, and you standing there on the platform to meet me, looking so handsome in your uniform!” She was remembering arriving in Utah on the train from New York to get married. I'd never known that Dad met her train, never known of that moment in their lives. It was the only time Mom ever mistook me for someone else during her last few months, but I’m glad she did because I cherish the memory of that night.

Some of my best memories of growing up are the camping trips we would take with the extended Craig family to Navajo Lake (which is up a canyon by Cedar City, Utah). I have many memories of those camping trips, although not all are very distinct. I remember Grandma and Grandpa had a little brown and tan pop-up trailer that they would bring. Since we were mostly outside during the day, it felt like a bit of a treat when I would be invited to go inside it. I also remember all the campfire songs we would sing, and all the stars. Besides the great (cold!) little lake, hiking trails, and all around fun outdoor stuff, there was also the Shakespeare Festival that Cedar City holds every year. Grandpa Craig was a professor of English, and Shakespeare was his specialty. Almost every night it was possible different groups of family members would try to clean all the camp dirt off and caravan down the mountain to see a play. I started joining these groups when I was five. I remember, my first play was Twelfth Night, and with Grandpa's help I really enjoyed it! Grandpa would use the time it took to drive into town to give the kids a synopsis of the play so that we could follow what was going on on stage. I never felt like he was dumbing down the play, rather he was letting me in on the fun I was about to experience. During college I took a class where we read Love's Labor's Lost (a Shakespeare I had been unfamiliar with before), and it was hard that Grandpa was too far gone for me to have a conversation about it with him. I wanted to ask my first, and most loving Shakespeare Instructor if it was okay that I thought it wasn't a particularly great play.

Contributed by Kari Van Wagner, a granddaughter My grandparents house was torn down yesterday. We knew it was eventually happening, but it took longer than I expected. I drove by Monday night on my way down the canyon. Smiled as I passed wondering how long it would be there, secretly hoping forever. I can't think of a place that holds more happy memories for me. Memories of family, cousins and friends. Memories of Christmas Eve and Swedish dinners. Decorating the Christmas tree. Of singing. Of Halloween and grandma's cookies. Jumping from square to square on the living room rug. Floating in a sea of lava on the vinyl square cushions. Picking apples and apricots. Birthday parties. The best game closet ever assembled. Long family parties that somehow always involved a dictionary. Kid sized chairs. Watching slides from my grandparents trips to China. It was the first place I met someone from England, which sparked a life long love. Playing statues on the front lawn. Admiring the beautiful art my grandparents owned. It's where my grandpa told me that snitching while cooking is the best part. Amazing tree wallpaper. More singing. Sitting at grandpa's feet while he read How Come Christmas. Tiny silver spoons resting in their velvet box, pulled out for grandkids to eat sherbet with. It's where I said goodbye to my grandma just after her last breath was gone. Beautiful house on Canyon Drive, you held those memories in your walls, I will now carry them within my heart.