80 Years
My grandma died on Memorial Day this year. It was fitting (in a morbid way) because she visited the cemetery nearly every day to tend to the graves of her departed loved ones and simply to enjoy the scenic view from the bench next to my grandpa’s grave. So it was kind of poetic that she would pass away on the day that traditionally remembers cemeteries.
She was 97 years old, so people would say, “Well, it’s still hard even when it’s expected.”
And I would reply, “Yeah.”
But the fact is, this was not expected. We all believed she had found a way to cheat death. Grandma said she wanted to live forever and we thought she may have cracked the code. So when I got the call that she was gone, it didn’t seem possible.
I spoke at her funeral a few weeks ago. I don’t know if I was asked or if I told my mom I wanted to because I had already begun writing about her. But it was a genuine honor to pay tribute to her life and reminisce with cousins and aunts and uncles about growing up Hett. My grandparents would have celebrated their 80th Anniversary this week, so as a tribute to them I am sharing the words I spoke at her funeral.
Dolores Henriette Wiederstein was born on January 15, 1926 in a small home in Lehigh, Kansas. The only daughter of Gustav and Louise (Schroeder) Wiederstein, Dolores was raised with her brothers Milton and Verner at the family home North of Canton. Their home burned to the ground when she was 12 years old, losing all their possessions. At that time, Gustav and Louise moved to town and purchased the Phillips 66 Station along with a small hotel located at Main and Highway 56 in Canton. Never one to shy away from hard work, Dolores would put on her overalls (and lipstick) and pump gas for patrons and pitch in wherever her family needed.
She graduated from Canton High School in 1943.
At the age of 17 she met Donald Hett at a church ice cream social. Following their courtship, the two were united in marriage on July 6, 1943, at the Christian Church in Marion, Kansas. After the ceremony, the couple engaged in Shivaree in Canton with their friends that included wheelbarrow races and a parade with homemade instruments and other shenanigans.
Shortly after their wedding, Don was stationed in Starke, Florida, at Camp Blanding where Dolores worked at the hospital PX until Don’s deployment to the Philippines during World War II. During this time, Dolores gave birth to the couple’s first child, Donetta.
The young family grew over the years, with the births of Janet (Diane), Deanna, Donna, Dennis, Danny, Darla, Douglas and Darrin.
Dolores made matching dresses for her four oldest daughters that were so perfectly crafted, their school teachers would ask them to line up to admire Dolores’ handiwork. Her skill and love of sewing was part of her gift giving - babies would receive blankets, recent graduates a set of embellished towels, newlyweds a quilt, and the occasional doily. She continued this hobby despite losing sight in her right eye in 1984.
Cooking for a family of 10 was no picnic, but Dolores did it with ease, making (what her family declares) the best spaghetti and fried chicken in the world. And when the kids got older, they would still show up on Sundays and their mother would feed them all (plus the grandkids) like she ran a cafe.
A consummate caregiver, Dolores was a nurse in the maternity ward at McPherson Memorial Hospital. She rocked nearly every baby born there and would present them to their mothers with a perfect “spit curl” in their hair. She was even on duty when some of her great grandchildren were born.
Following Don’s stroke in 1988, she acted as his primary caregiver until his death in 1999. And she cared for her beloved granddaughter, Lindsay Dawn, until Dolores was 94 years old.
She was in the stands for little league games, recitals, musicals and any event her grandchildren and great grandchildren participated in. Her television was tuned in to all her favorite sports teams - KU, K-State, Chiefs, Royals, Shockers…unless she was watching one of her “soaps.”
A true matriarch, not only of the Hett Family, but something of a local celebrity in Canton. A resident even remarked, “We don’t need Betty White. We have Dolores Hett.”
She played BUNCO with the same group for 40 years, belonged to a Stitch and Chatter Club, and was a fixture at the American Legion for Saturday Night Bingo. She was also fond of trips to the casino and playing cards with her family.
Her grandkids remember her as their “fancy grandma” who was never without her hair coiffed, a colorful outfit, full makeup, matching jewelry, and painted nails. Even her paper towels were “fancy.” But being perfectly polished didn’t stop her from getting on the riding lawn mower and taking care of her yard - usually with a grandkid in tow!
She sang sweetly to all of the grandkids. Some of our favorites were ‘You Are My Sunshine”, “Bye Baby Bunting”, and “CeCe Dear Playmate”.
But what grandma loved most was people. All people. The holiday or occasion was never the point for her. It was that all of us showed up in droves and laughed and ate and enjoyed being together. Growing up I loved being with all my aunts and uncles and cousins. There was safety in knowing there were so many people who cared for each other. I didn’t realize how rare that actually was until many years later when I discovered not everyone had (what felt like) 100 cousins and dozens of aunts and uncles. She never differentiated between the blood relatives and those who had married into the family or who were close friends of the Hett brood. They were all family to her.
For me, one of my favorite memories was going to the Kingfisher Inn at Marion Lake with Grandma and Grandpa and my aunts and uncles and cousins. Grandpa was always a flood of emotion and sentimentality, especially when all of the family was together. Whenever we dined at the Kingfisher Inn, grandpa would order the frog legs. And, without fail, at some point during the dinner, grandpa would become overwhelmed by emotion and start to cry because he was so happy the family was together. But, as a small child, I thought grandpa was crying because he was eating a frog’s legs. So I would tell people, “my grandpa always cries when he eats frog legs.”
That’s what I think of with grandpa. He was like the water - emotional, churning, and deeply feeling.
And Grandma was the rock - strong, steadfast, constant, and unwavering.
But water changes the shape of rocks. It smooths out the edges. It reveals new colors, patterns, and beauty.
And rocks hold the water in place, keeping it steady, being a place of refuge when the water is too intense.
Grandma and Grandpa were what the other needed. And together they made a family and a life and a legacy. They passed down their emotions, strength, and loyalty to their children. And their children passed on that grit and passion to the next generation. And now we carry the best of each of them in us.
She was a formidable opponent of death. We thought she may live forever out of sheer force of will. The world may feel different without her in it, but we know she is never far. Because every time you hear “You Are My Sunshine” or pass the exit for Marion Lake, or are reminded of the way Dolores touched your life, her memory lives on in us.
