For three years, I’ve thought of Karla Breed, a great-great-grandmother who lived at the Mayflower Community, whenever I passed a pig stuffed animal in a store or on a shelf, the kind she kept tucked into every corner of her room.
I never imagined that two semesters after writing my first opinion piece about Karla, whom I first met while volunteering at the nursing home, I would be returning to celebrate her life.
Karla passed away on Dec. 21, a day after my birthday. In her memory, I write to you, readers of The Scarlet & Black, to share a few lessons I learned from our Iowa grandma that you might wish to carry with you.
First, keep physical memories of your life.
Karla taught me what a “shadowbox” was — a collection of small objects that hold big stories — after showing me hers. It featured a bottle of milk, the kind she once delivered to houses for her father; corn, of course, because she was Iowan after all; and many other keepsakes.
Picture frames turned her medical-furniture room at the health center into a home. My favorite was a photo of her late brother holding their mother while searching for their mother’s favorite flowers. Karla inspired me to hold on to vivid reminders of the good times.
Second, let yourself be passionate.
If I could teleport you into the hours of conversation I had with Karla about her many pigs, I would. As a young girl, she took pigs to the Iowa State Fair, and she was hooked ever since. Themed Christmas, Easter and even St. Patrick’s Day pigs filled her shelves. She never gave up on that joy, and I admit I must have added at least five pigs myself to her shelves over the years of our friendship.
She also refused to ever lose track of a basketball game, always keeping score and following leagues and tournaments with fierce loyalty. Even at 88 years old, Karla’s table was still covered in beautiful paper. From a letter she once wrote me, I can guarantee that her love and artistry for scrapbooking never faded. In a moment in history when everything can feel heavy, I hope we all find a passion as deep and joyful as Karla’s love for pigs.
Third, remember to look at the flowers.
In her room, Karla would point to her window where you could see pretty flowers. Her face lit up when the short, slow-growing redbud tree in the small garden near her room blossomed each year. “If you buy a home, make sure the first thing you add is a redbud,” she once told me.
In the sterile medical environment of the nursing home, which I am sure was not easy to take in, Karla was always like that. She looked for the flowers.
It is how she approached everything — looking for the beauty, especially in difficult moments.
I remember Karla’s willpower with her walker, how she bundled herself up after being ill and how she always looked forward to bingo every week.
One time, Karla and I were in the middle of an arts and crafts project when she saw her friend’s son walking away from the building, looking sad. She immediately understood what it might have meant, that her friend at The Mayflower had possibly passed away.
Instead of sitting in silence, she told me her friend’s life story and how they had known each other for a long time, and still, a smile appeared.
Fourth and lastly, warmth and family are what you make of them.
I will always wonder if Karla knew what was coming, and if that is why she gave me one of her pairs of earrings.
What I will always know for sure is that she had a way of making everyone feel special.
Whether it was by complimenting their puzzle skills, praising their flower drawings or attentively looking through photos of people’s pets, she made you feel seen. Her kindness was contagious.
Those who knew Karla are sure to remember her as a smiling face who knew everyone’s names and quirks, with the wit of a 20-year-old, the sense of humor of a comedian and a love for life and people that only a grandma can have.
I hope this piece reaches those who wonder if showing up makes a difference, or a first-year student who wonders if they should volunteer and paint rocks with the residents at Mayflower. Please, let yourself meet your Karla, even if your goodbye is filled with sorrow.
The last time I saw Karla, she smiled the entire time and told me to be careful and have fun exploring the world. I hope to be as kind as she, who, even in her final moments, held on to her loveliness.
