I've not written in awhile. I've been busy living life, cleaning, spinning some yarn, working at my insane job, teen rearing..(also zoo-keeping, animal management, prison warden.......) and by the time I sit down to this computer, I am worn out!
But this past Sunday, my grandmother died. Those are the hardest words to write. My grandmother raised me for about a year when I was a baby. My grandmother had me spend the night at her home on weekends, always taking me to church on Sunday morning, where she was a Sunday School teacher. My brother was always a sickly child and it was a relief for my mom to give me away to her mom, who I am sure sometimes regretted having offered to take me. I was a super hyperactive kid back then and just getting me to sit still long enough to brush my hair was akin to being pecked to death by ducks..
She was my confidante. She was the one I could talk to when my mom was busy with my brother. She was the one who drove me nuts with her constant rules about in-home behavior (no jumping on the couch, no eating anywhere but at the kitchen table (and NOT in the dining room as that was reserved for Sunday dinners only). She worried over me, prayed over me, listened to me babble. She was a neat freak. Back in the 60's just about everyone I knew smoked. My dad would no sooner put out his cigarette in her ashtray when she'd have it dumped, washed and dried before the butt was cold. She liked things "just so". One of my favorite stories about her was her love of Tom Jones. During the 60's, Tom was every woman's dream man. My grandmother, an uber strict Southern Baptist Woman, devoted to her husband in every conceivable way, loved Tom Jones. My grandfather got her tickets to see him in Jacksonville. She got her hair done. She bought a new dress. She put on her favorite perfume "Prince Matchabelli", a name that made me laugh then and still makes me smile now. She got a whole new roll of film for her camera and they went to the concert. I found out later that my grandmother thought Tom to be over 6 feet tall. He is considerably under 6 feet tall. She said she got the shock of her life when this little man walked out on stage. She thought he was there to set up for Tom. Then he picked up the microphone and started singing. It was Tom! She was putting the film in her camera (she'd forgotten to do that at home) and dropped it, exposing the film (no pictures that night), got camera goo (I never really figured out what that meant) all over her new dress and was disgusted by the number of, and I quote, "women who should have known better", who threw their panties up onto the stage! Still, she loved his music.
While she may have had a hard scrabble life, she tried to rise above it. She took "fake it until you make it" to a whole new level. She was utterly devoted to church, spending every single night at church doing something (ladies aid, choir practice, missionary assistance, Bible study, Sunday school, teen relief, was a church secretary) and Sunday's meant Sunday school 9 a.m., 11 a.m. church, adult Bible Study, second service at 6 p.m. I have never met anyone who loved God more.
She was known as a great cook. A typical Thanksgiving dinner included both a ham and a turkey in case someone didn't like one or the other meats. She put on a spread that would feed a ravenous tribe, even though there were only she and my grandfather. You did not ever leave her house hungry and she took hospitality to a whole new level. You could show up unannounced and you'd get 2 or 3 pies, a cake or some other such treat, all with apologies for not being better prepared to receive company. And she knew what you liked to eat and had a memory like an elephant. I can still hear her remark upon someone not clearing their plate after their 3rd plate full "Is there something wrong with the corn? You only had 2 servings!" My dad and grandfather would sit in the den after dinner (women had kitchen duty) and snore after one of her feasts!
A night spent at her home meant sleeping on the fold out couch (I could have had the guest bedroom but preferred the couch!) where she and I would lie side by side and go through picture albums until my grandfather would call out "Mary, you let that child go to sleep and come to bed!".
The women in my family live forever and she was in her 90's when she died. We doubt that a real age is attainable as she was born at home and due to being "southern to the core" she lied about her age so much, we aren't really sure. This we know, she is into her 90's, lost both her legs this year, 1 of which she had removed just recently, she was deaf and blind, with moments of clarity and she so wanted to be home with Jesus and said so on more than one occasion. I know this, He brought the whole clan down to welcome her home and a finer family reunion and potluck dinner can't be found. I know that in Heaven Jesus wipes the tears from your eyes and you receive a perfect, new body. Those tears get received by us,who shed them at your funeral and after as we realize the many ways your loss affects us. She will be missed.....
