In Memory

It's hard to explain exactly what I've been feeling the last few days. I found out that a classmate of mine, from middle & high school, died unexpectedly.

As I began writing, in her memory, I tried to think of specific memories I have of her. They are few and scattered. In middle school, when we met, she was the support necessary to get to the top of cheerleading pyramid and laughter as we tried to learn new dance routines. In high school she was a timid, but friendly smile in the hallway between classes. In recent years the memories consisted of facebook status updates and changes of profile pictures.

But I get it. While my interactions with this woman were limited and just a small piece of the picture of who she was and who she became, to some she was everything.

For the little girl that will sit across from an empty seat at mealtimes, she was everything.

For the man that now sleeps in his marriage bed alone, she was everything.

For the sister that no longer has someone that understands every part of her past, present, and hopes for the future, she was everything.

For the parents that were there for her first breaths, and tomorrow will be there to place a lifeless body in the ground, she was everything.

Everyone is everything to someone.

Grandparents

I was blessed to know all four of my grandparents, and to know them well. We lived within ten miles of both sets as I grew up, so we had daily or weekly interactions with them all. This week I will honor and pay tribute to them. Only one remains living, and if you asked him, he's been "nearly dead" for the better part of two decades. I want to share them with you as honestly as I am able, but I also want to be reverant in my honesty. They are each remarkable, and each less than perfect, and each well loved by many.

Mamaw
"What is a Mamaw?" a friend asked one day.

My explanation at at the time was, "My Mamaw is my grandmother on my dad's side."

It was an easy enough response, but it did not begin to explain my Mamaw.

Mamaw is popcorn balls and pecan pies.
She is patchwork quilts and homemade dolls.
Mamaw is a hug, a smile, and a tender "I love you."
She is sweet tea, fresh vegetables from the garden, fried okra, and the best Brunswick stew anywhere.
Mamaw is hot chocolate for the football games and half a stick of gum in church.
Mamaw is an open Bible on the end table.
She chases cows back into the broken pasture fence late at night, makes a pallet on the floor when you spend the night.
She gives you peanut butter and Ritz crackers.
She fixes eggs any way you want them and lets you watch "Dukes of Hazzard" and "Dallas" when your mom thinks they are silly shows.
Mamaw is mercy and forgiveness that keep you from getting a spanking on Christmas Day even though you smashed the pecans on the back porch.
Mamaw is full of love and kindness spread generously from her family and friends out into the whole world.
Mamaw is a spirit so sweet and faithful that the simple fruits of her labor will last an eternity.


My Mamaw died a little more than ten years ago. My memories of her are fond. Some days I still long to talk with her; to know how she managed having six children in seven years, a husband who had to be away for long periods due to illness, parents-in-law that she helped nurse through their final years. I think about her smile, laugh and sometimes "questionable" humor...she is the one that made anatomically correct Herschel Walker cabbage patch-like dolls for the boys in the family one Christmas in the early 1980's. She was fun-loving and sincere, always willing to help others, strong in her convictions and character, extraordinary in many ways.