A Generation of Love

  

Originally Published Dec. 2012  

This is a Valentine love story about my Grandma and Grandpa.   

Albina Valenta, a young dressmaker from Chicago, traveled to a little town near Duluth to visit relatives during the summer of 1913.  And that is where she met her future husband, John Lehecka.  The young and handsome, John, worked as a hired hand on one of the farms in the area.  They met at a local dance where Grandpa played the concertina.  They soon learned that they had a mutual talent for dancing waltzes and polkas.  They “courted” for the two weeks of Grandma’s vacation and then corresponded through the mail for the next several months.  

The next time they saw each other was when they were married on January 10, 1914.  I have many of the letters they wrote to each other which were filled with their individual hopes for the future, their mutual love of God, and eventually, their love for each other. 

Zoom ahead 45 years to 1959.  While walking up their sidewalk after a day of shopping in St. Paul, my grandma suffered a stroke.  Now, this is where I believe the “in sickness and in health” portion of the marriage vows kicked in.  Nursing homes were not prevalent in those days; therefore, they had to “make do.”  They had a huge master bedroom and were able to move in a hospital bed for grandma.   Grandpa put in a twin bed next to her for himself.  And, for the next 12 years, John took care of Albina.    Of course, he had the help of my parents and other family members; but, basically, he was her main caregiver 24/7. 

I remember the effort it would take to “go out for a cup of coffee.”  Grandpa used a contraption where he could swing her from the bed to her wheelchair.  Then he would wheel her to the front steps and down a little wooden ramp and park her next to the car.  Next, he would go back to the house and get the swing, take it outside, place her in the car and then put the swing and the wheelchair in the trunk.  

After that, he would drive them to the little coffee shop in Lindstrom, take the equipment out of the trunk, swing her into the chair and wheel her into the coffee shop.  Of course, he would have to do everything in reverse order to get them home and back in their bedroom.  All that for a cup of coffee.  

He took such loving care of her.  He would call her “sweetheart.”  But, all she could say was, “Oh, Johnny” in a little whisper.  He turned out to be a pretty good cook and since she was paralyzed, he would feed her – encouraging her to “just take one more little bite.”  He changed her diapers – no adult Pampers in those days – and rubbed lotion on her to keep her skin soft.  I remember the doctor commenting that in all of her 12 years of confinement, never once did he have to treat her for a bedsore.  Now, that’s what I call exceptional loving devotion and care.  Not bad for a couple who really only knew each other for two weeks before committing to a lifetime together, right?  

Theirs was a true love story that grew and grew.  They set a wonderful example for my parents, brother, sister and me.  One that I hope we will show our children and grandchildren.  I’d like to think that maybe 20 years from now, one of my grandsons will write about his grandma and grandpa and how we lived a love story that inspired him to carry on that tradition.