Life Just Hasn't Been the Same
You never really know how much someone means to you until they're gone. It's been 22 years since the sudden death of my Mam 'maw and still to this day, there's not a single day that goes by that I don't think about her. She was my father's mother, a petite woman, but what she lacked in height she made up for in personality. Wise and philosophical.
Never mind that she once poured gasoline on the coals of a barbecue grill and threw in a match and the flames shot up to the roof of the lake house, nearly catching it on fire. To her the gasoline would make the coals heat up faster.
I was very close to Mam'maw, sometimes I believed that she understood me better than anyone. She was up every morning at 5:30 on the dot, and before she was diagnosed with diabetes, she had a coca-cola and a cigarette. After the diagnosis, she switched to ice water and no smoking. I would get up with her from time-to-time and we would talk about the world's problems and try to solve them all before she got up from the table to roll the dough for the homemade biscuits.
Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing got past her. She and my grandfather moved my dad and uncle to Washington, DC during the Great Depression. My grandfather as I have said before, worked for the War Department during WWII. Mam'maw also worked as a clerk in a 5 and dime store. The "northerners" were mesmerized by her southern accent. Customers would intentionally ask her the price of things just to hear her speak. One day a customer came in and asked her the price of something and mam'maw would say a qwad-er (quarter). The customer loved the way that she said quarter and from that moment on, he intentionally picked up things that cost a quarter, just to hear mam'maw say it. After a couple of minutes of this little routine, my mam'maw caught on and boy was she really mad. Finally she had had enough and when the customer asked again, she said two bits, damn it. Needless to say the customer stopped asking.
I cherish those stories and conversations with my mam'maw. I would sit for hours listening to them. Mam'maw according to her, was quiet the catch as she tells it when she was growing up. She drilled in my head that when it comes to men, you needed to be friends first before you were anything else. What she taught me, I carry with me to this day.
I considered mam'maw my friend. The age span between us didn't matter, because I could relate to her and she to me. She always tried to be a positive and upbeat woman who loved her family. She wasn't perfect, but she was genuine. What you saw was what you got from her.
Her death was unexpected. The loss to me so devastating. I am forever grateful for the time I did share with her and for her guiding wisdom.
Never mind that she once poured gasoline on the coals of a barbecue grill and threw in a match and the flames shot up to the roof of the lake house, nearly catching it on fire. To her the gasoline would make the coals heat up faster.
I was very close to Mam'maw, sometimes I believed that she understood me better than anyone. She was up every morning at 5:30 on the dot, and before she was diagnosed with diabetes, she had a coca-cola and a cigarette. After the diagnosis, she switched to ice water and no smoking. I would get up with her from time-to-time and we would talk about the world's problems and try to solve them all before she got up from the table to roll the dough for the homemade biscuits.
Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing got past her. She and my grandfather moved my dad and uncle to Washington, DC during the Great Depression. My grandfather as I have said before, worked for the War Department during WWII. Mam'maw also worked as a clerk in a 5 and dime store. The "northerners" were mesmerized by her southern accent. Customers would intentionally ask her the price of things just to hear her speak. One day a customer came in and asked her the price of something and mam'maw would say a qwad-er (quarter). The customer loved the way that she said quarter and from that moment on, he intentionally picked up things that cost a quarter, just to hear mam'maw say it. After a couple of minutes of this little routine, my mam'maw caught on and boy was she really mad. Finally she had had enough and when the customer asked again, she said two bits, damn it. Needless to say the customer stopped asking.
I cherish those stories and conversations with my mam'maw. I would sit for hours listening to them. Mam'maw according to her, was quiet the catch as she tells it when she was growing up. She drilled in my head that when it comes to men, you needed to be friends first before you were anything else. What she taught me, I carry with me to this day.
I considered mam'maw my friend. The age span between us didn't matter, because I could relate to her and she to me. She always tried to be a positive and upbeat woman who loved her family. She wasn't perfect, but she was genuine. What you saw was what you got from her.
Her death was unexpected. The loss to me so devastating. I am forever grateful for the time I did share with her and for her guiding wisdom.
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