To Memaw

Memaw and E, 2014

Dear Memaw,

When I headed to the grocery store today I thought about you. I heard my mind say, "Oh I could go see Memaw." But then reality bumped me. Anytime I'm in that area I think, "Oh, I could go see Memaw." I've spent a few years connecting those two events. . .being in that little shopping center and visiting you across the street. But today, reality jolts me again. You're not there anymore. I can't go visit you anymore.

I tend to go into that classic denial mode that people say is the first stage of grief. I tend to stay there for awhile when life's big events occur. I get momentarily shocked by reality. Then I go back to denial mode and distance myself again from reality. But last night I looked at the clock at 6:53 and I realized your absence again. I thought, "Yep the final puzzle is on. Memaw would probably be watching this." So I flipped on the TV and the kids and I watched that last puzzle. Josh was working late, but he loves that final puzzle, too. So there I sat in a strange sort of thankful state that at least Pat and Vana were still alive. Because watching Wheel of Fortune will always be nostalgic. It's just one more way my memory of you stays fresh. I found myself wishing Pat and Vana would stick around for several more years, if only for the comfort of permanence.

You were unofficially and unequivocally old for quite awhile, Memaw. I suppose once someone hits 80, it's hard to size them up as "getting old." I suppose by then, they are old. But you lived to be 96 and I can't really remember a time where you felt sorry for your old age. It was always good material for a joke though. Jill reminded us of the time when you made Mom take back those shoes she bought you. You said they were "old lady shoes" and you didn't like them. You were 90 at the time. Memaw, you already know this, but I can throw a good pity party. I even like to invite a few friends. Sometimes it seems like if people are busy pitying you, they'll let you off the hook for stuff. If they're busy feeling sorry for you, then maybe they won't be too hard on you. But I hope for your sake, I can grow older and older and less and less prone to those pity parties. I hope I can follow your example and make people laugh or tell them stories or think of ways I can help them out. I hope I can follow your example and find some joy in getting old instead of letting it take my joy away.

Memaw, I never learned how to make your biscuits. How did you get them to come out being smooth on top? Anytime I try to make them, they are kind of lumpy. I should have made sure to ask for your tips on this technique before you left this earth. I just forgot. You know I tried to see you as often as I could. I'm glad you weren't mad that "often as I could" was really not very often. It was probably at least twice month or so. But I would say to myself, "I really want to start visiting Memaw once a week." But it was hard to get the demands of life to follow those intentions. I wanted to visit you though. And not just because you were getting old and I was afraid I'd run out of time. Na. It was just because I liked talking to you. Being around you was comforting. Some people make me jumpy. But not you. You were calming presence. I'm thankful for that. You must have passed that along to Gannie because she calms me too. I guess you must have loved her with the kind of love she loves us with.  That's the kind of thing I hope my daughter will say about me one day.

It's funny how grandparents start getting older and the most frail right about the time we grandkids are in our busiest and fullest season, raising our own children. Raising your great grandchildren. In some ways we are precluded from spending the kind of time with you that would maximize the precious hours we have left with you. But we know while you were growing older and weaker, our little ones were growing faster and stronger, needing more from us than ever. They change too quickly, and new beginnings start rolling in faster than ocean waves. We know God has entrusted these little ones to us and there is only one mom for them, only one dad. So even though I didn't see you as often in my adult life as I did in my kid life, I'm sure thankful for the time we did have. I'm thankful for the KIND of time we had together in my adult life and during this busy season. I'm thankful that it was fruitful time. I'm thankful that it was enjoyable time. I'm thankful that when we did spend time together, you didn't talk about how we don't spend enough time together. And now I'm even that much more thankful for the memories of childhood. I'm also more thankful for the memories of being a girl in my early twenties who loved coming to your house.

Okay, well, I'm still a little bitter about the fact that you finally put central air in your house after Papa died. I sure did love that sound of the window units and the whir and the hum they made. I bought a box fan last year for E. I didn't want a sound machine. I wanted a box fan. I needed to hear something similar to that whir and that hum. It also reminds me of Camp Soaring Hawk, you know. Good times.

Speaking of E, I'm sure glad you got to meet him. He won't remember you and that makes me sad. But I know A and C will. Austin's the only grandchild that got to meet Papa. But I'm glad at least two of my kids will remember their Memaw. Their grief process has been interesting. They're too young to grasp the depth of all of it. This is good though and for their protection. But C had his own way of wrestling with his sadness. It was sweet, yet sad to watch. The other night, he said he imagines heaven to be a place where we are all in wheelchairs and God is on his throne. We weren't quite sure which theological principle to help him work through there. =)

Memaw, one last thing. I'm glad when I started dating Josh you passed along your approval. I'm thankful for all the prayers you prayed for us. There's nothing quite like a grandmother's prayer. There's nothing quite like acceptance from your elders either. I mean, if Dad hadn't been so accepting of Josh, I would have been sick to my stomach. Thankfully he thinks Josh hung the moon. And if you hadn't been so accepting of Josh, I would have felt that tension. So thank you for accepting him and loving him like he was your own.  I have always kind of taken that for granted. But now I feel especially thankful for that sort of thing. Husbands and wives are one. He's a part of who I am in a real and lifelong way. We're so intertwined and irrevocably so. I hope we get the 60 years of marriage that you and Papa had. I hope we get even longer. I hope we're cute enough to celebrate a 50 year anniversary at the Peabody Hotel. I hope we'll always be loving enough to be snarky with each other and devoted and affectionate at the same time.

Love you Memaw. You're probably back to being around 5 feet 6 inches tall now. No more osteoporosis in heaven. You're whole now. You're well. And that's how I'll remember you.

Lee