I always get so much from talking to you

I love my grandma Mimi's hands. When I was a child I used to sit next to her during sacrament meeting and play with the veins that wound over the back of her hands and looked so much like rivers, trying unsuccessfully to make one side or the other deflate. Her hands were always busy doing something, so I loved those moments where she’d let me just hold her hand. Hers were the hands that taught me to knead bread, to make frosting flowers, and how to sweep the floor and clean a toilet. She taught me to use a dictionary, and edited every essay I wrote for a year with those hands, marking up papers with her red pen until I had learned to write a grammatically correct sentence the first time. She grew tomatoes and daffodils, made grape juice (thick as milk) and jams from apricots, plums, choke cherries, and any other fruit that came her way. She could learn to do anything--she baked and decorated wedding cakes, birthday cakes, cinnamon rolls (only occasionally with cumin), and 4th ward brownies; she quilted and sewed and crocheted everything from baby dresses to temple altar cloths, and she gave all of it to the people around her as if to say, "Here, I love you, I made this for you."
Mimi taught us to speak. Professionally, she was a speech pathologist who worked with resource kids, and she understood the importance of speaking well. Everyone around her was subject to correction, no matter how old or young. She was a terrific writer, but so busy making and teaching she rarely took the time to put down her own stories.
I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. I still do.
Marie Hansen was the third child of Louis Manervan and Tressa Love Hansen, born in Mills, Utah, a town that exists today primarily as an exit on I-15. Her family were farmers, and when she was about seven her older brother broke his leg, forcing the family moved to Panguich, where there was a hospital. She helped her family picking peas for 25 cents a bushel. I imagine she was an energetic, industrious child before, but I'm sure that experience cemented her work ethic deep in her bones. While she was there she was put back a grade by a teacher who didn't think it worthwhile to educate "pea pickers." Another, more observant teacher, realized she was following along with the older children and moved her up a grade. She later graduated (early) from Delta High school; in 1970 she graduated Magna Cum Laude with a BS in Speech pathology and Audiology from the University of Utah, and a year later earned her MS, all while raising her seven children.
In addition to her own children, she had a hand in the raising of 24 grandchildren and 30 great-grandchildren, and one great-great granddaughter, along with countless neighborhood kids. When Marie was ten her mother gave birth to a daughter, Paula, and then developed 'milk leg,' and Mimi helped raise Paula, too. For 61 years she was married to Sterling Yates Nielson, and mourned his absence for the last 11 years of her life. I am sure they are ecstatic to be reunited.
The last time I talked to her, the day before she died, she wondered aloud if she'd done enough in her life. I wish I'd been there to hold her hands, now knobby and spotted, with veins popping out even more than when I was a child, as I told her yes, she had done enough. Even so, my ever-generous grandma asked her body be donated to the University of Utah for medical students to learn from. After ninety-one long, busy, ever productive years she's still teaching.
She was an incredible woman, a force of nature. She created our world, shaped and molded us, and always, always loved us. There is no monument to her but us, but our hands, which must now bear one another up and take on the work she can no longer do. We love you and will miss you always.