A tribute to my Grandmother, Suzanne Hilton

Yesterday I lost my Grandmother and Heaven has gained a very special woman. I have often felt that my spirit of adventure came from Suzanne Hilton, my dad’s Mom. Today I leave for Thailand, and as I look back over the trips I have taken, I have to see a link between Grandma and my love of traveling.

When I was a kid, we camped our way across the U.S. I ate New England clam chowder from Pennsylvania to California and back across Canada. Grandma spent her days doing research in the Historical Societies, reading diaries and seeking forgotten adventures to share with young readers. When the work was done, we made our own forays into the wild wild west. I will never forget the evening walk when Grandma and I had a celebrity sighting. He was a small dog named Benji. We sat at the picnic table alongside a camper while the pooch showed off his tricks. I still have his paw print.

In 1995, Grandma sent my sister, Darcy, and I backpacking across Europe.  We traveled through seven countries sleeping in hostels or trains.  We saw cathedrals and museums, met interesting people and experienced a terrorist attack on the Saint-Michel metro station in Paris.  We called home to be sure Grandma and our parents knew that we were not the casualties being reported on the news.

When Grandma moved too far away for frequent visits, she left memories carved into my very being. I can still see her office stacked with papers and an old type writer where I wrote my first “book” alongside her own award-winning manuscripts. I can still feel the sugar she loaded on my french toast and see her sewing an “extra-strong seam” around the Christmas stocking we made for a short-lived boyfriend. I can hear the dinghy bouncing on the waves and Grandma calling out “Bumps, Connie” to the dog.

After getting the call from Aunt Diana on Tuesday, I was looking through my box of memories. I could smell the old books. Grandma was an historian and I have all of her non-fiction. She was good at what she did. Her writing brought her the Drexel University and the Free Library of Philadelphia’s Legion of Honor award (1979) and the Western Writers of America’s Golden Spur (1981), but to me the photo albums she made hold the best treasures. I looked through pictures of her as a young mom and as the mother-of-the-groom. I see her on horseback and laying in the sand. What shocked me most as I dug through the cardboard box was a book she didn’t write. Although Grandma didn’t pen the words, I felt the message was poignant and timely. The book is entitled Tales from Thailand and the message in the cover was written by the author:

November 4, 1978 [I was four] 
To Christine, ...with a special wish that you will learn to love the Thai as I did. My fondest wishes are ever with you and your charming Grandmother... 

God gave me my Grandmother to inspire me and love me. I am so grateful for her appreciation of everything around her. I am honored that this book that she gave me so many years ago surfaced now as I head to Thailand and she arrives at the gates of Heaven. Her gift confirms that I am who I am supposed to be and that I can give to others what my grandmother deposited in me.