There aren't words to begin to explain how much Mommom meant to all of us, or to capture what an amazing grandmother she was, or to describe the hole in my life knowing she won't be here. I still wanted to share a few thoughts, because even though words could never fully express the depth of my love, they are all we have to share, all we have to remember her smile, her hugs, her kindness and generosity. She wrote, "I've had a good, long life, lots of smiles, some tears. So smile when you think of me." So, I wanted to share just a few things that make me smile.
I loved how brutally honest she was. You never had to worry about whether she was lying if she complimented your hair, or a new outfit, because she would definitely let you know it if she didn't approve. She would say, "Jenny, I know you don't want to hear it, but," and then she would just go on and tell you anyway. And I loved her for it, because everything she said came from a place of love. She never wanted to hurt feelings--she just cared about telling the truth, especially to those of us she loved the most.
She would do anything for us. I could always count on her. She helped me so much, from co-signing for the car I bought in college to buying me bedding and towels to take to the dorms with me. She was so proud of how far I went in my education. She came to my dissertation defense, and when I nervously awaited my first question, expecting it to come from a professor on my committee or another academic, she raised her hand before anyone. I hesitated before I called on her, not knowing WHAT was going to come out of her mouth, and then she said (after listening to the in-depth description of the research project I'd been conducting for the past year), "I just want to know, what did you do with all your free time?" And the whole room burst into laughter.
I think if it's possible, she's more proud of that doctorate degree than I am--and just to clarify, I am very proud of that degree. I worked hard to get it. She taught me to work hard--whether in keeping a clean house, which I promise, Mommom, I am finally getting better at--or in my studies. She taught me to love learning and to never take an education for granted. If she had been born in another time, or with different circumstances, she would have went far. She was smart enough and determined enough to get a doctorate, too.
She loved to read and write, and used to send me letters just about every week when I went to college. And she would send the best care packages. When I told her that they didn't sell my favorite brand of potato chips in Florida, she would buy Herr's sour cream and onion chips and use a safety pin to poke a hole in the bag to let it deflate before taping it back up, so the flattened bags wouldn't take up so much room in the boxes she would send. And I loved other quirky, thoughtful things she would do, like adding her own touch to store-bought cards by labeling the characters with our names, or when she wasn't getting out as much, recycling and re-purposing cards by writing witty messages on them.
She loves all of her great-grandchildren. But she made it very clear that she thinks Rashieme and I should stop having children now. And she's probably right. She's right about most things.
She was right about the girls' genders--all four times. And my own, for that matter. She had what both Rashieme and my dad called a voodoo trick to predict gender--she held a needle dangling with a thread over my mom and I's wrists while we were pregnant. And it was right, every time, with the swaying motion correctly indicating girl rather than boy. I loved to hear her tell the story of my dad proclaiming I was gonna be a boy right up until the moment of birth--when he came out into the waiting room and told Mommom she was right, it's a girl.
I know I'm going to see you again, Mommom. I'm so glad you're in heaven, reunited with your one true love and your brave son. It takes a special woman to raise a man who gives his life for his country, to raise a daughter who insisted on caring for you herself during your final days, even though it was physically and emotionally demanding, Mommom. That's who you are. You raise heroes. And to me, that makes you a hero, too.
I love you, and I promise to always try my best to be the kind of woman you would be proud of. I'm going to try to be like you, in as many ways as I can, for all the days I have left. So I don't know how all that works, if God allows you to help from the other side, but if so, I'm definitely going to need some help. And also, I am sick of losing to Rashieme at Canasta, so if you could please help me beat my husband at cards, I'd really appreciate it.
It's not goodbye, but see you late. Until then, I love you a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck.
One rose on Mommom's grave from each of us: her daughter, her favorite niece, my brothers and I, and our spouses and children.
