The Good 'Ole Days

Let’s see if I can make it through this time without crying. If I do, I’ll just keep going. I promise I won’t quit telling the world about you this time. I tried, during sophomore year of high school, to write about the saying “time heals all wounds.” Here we are though, a sophomore in college, and I get the chance again. Time has done everything but healed my wound.

As I write this, I’m picturing myself at your bedside in the rehab facility, where they tried to work you back to life. In this situation, heaven has visiting hours. God has allowed you to go back to your final resting place, to allow me to have my closure. The only thing is, I can only read to you what I wrote, you can’t talk back to me. Here goes nothing.

You’re the reason I love music. As a child, you were amazed at the instruments I could name while in the car with my Mama. A few years later, I was singing on our church choir, and not long after, playing the piano. You’d pick me up from school all the time, but the days I had piano lessons, I felt were the most dreadful for me, but the most fulfilling for you. You knew naptime was right after our lunch, and an episode of Judge Judy. You knew peanut butter and jelly was my favorite after-school snack. So, you’d wrap it up in aluminum foil and have the soggy sandwich ready for me to eat on the way to piano lessons. We continued this routine, despite my falling asleep on the keys, some days were better than others. Thank you so much for introducing me to the soft stroke of the piano, and to the skill I will always be able to pick up again.

I was such a brat as a child. Who am I kidding? I still am! I’m getting better, I promise. I believe you were the only one who didn’t take much of that from me, but your actions showed an entirely different attitude. Like the time we were riding in Obama, that’s the name we gave the old black and grey van, remember? You knew I hated shopping. Grocery shopping, in particular, and I remember you gave me a five-dollar bill just so I’d take my spoiled rotten ass to the grocery store with you. My young mind didn’t know any better. I hate that I took that from you. Now, I wish you could get up, and we could go up and down every aisle of Piggly Wiggly. Twice if you wanted to.

Remember when you took care of me for about 6 months? That’s when mama moved to Maryland. I was ten at the time, and you had to be there for both me and her emotionally. You carried our burdens as if you weren’t carrying bags of your own. Now that I’m older, I realize that you may have given all of your problems and ours to God. They were never your burdens to carry. Anyways, my Dad and Mama loved me so much, they both wanted me. My Dad wanted me to stay here with him in South Carolina, and mama wasn’t having it. That was a hard time for me. I think that’s when you became my best friend. Me, you, and uncle Kevin were living our best lives there at 1303 Kings Avenue. I would split my time with you and the rest of my family and friends. When the world became too much, I had a home in you. My safe haven, my shield, my shelter. My base. No one could touch me when I was holding onto you.

I loved Sunday mornings with you. It was something about gospel playing through the radio, and the smell of breakfast kissing my nose. You would make the best grits and your oatmeal was even better. All I’m left with now is the disgusting flavored oatmeal. You made yours with salt, pepper, butter, and love. No one will be able to top it. I freaking hate oatmeal now. You taught me the importance of going into the Lord’s house on Sundays, prayer, and being a reader and most importantly doer, of His word. Back then, I would just follow your lead and even mock your praise as a child. Now, Granny, I understand your praise. More than you’d ever know.

I’ve seen you cry once, maybe twice in my life. You were dang near invincible. There are the two times you did that I’ll never forget. I believe I saw you cry once in the movie theater. The night I became a Taraji P. Henson fan. Me, you, and mama went to the little movie theatre in town to see Tyler Perry’s new movie at the time, I Can Do Bad All By Myself. When April’s Mom passed, I swear I saw tears behind your wire-rimmed glasses.

Then there was that time you and I were at the kitchen table talking about your mother. You were telling me all of these amazing things about her, and the day of her funeral. You began to sing “Will the Circle be Unbroken” and as you sang “for this lady you are carrying, lord, I hate to see her go.” tears cascaded down your eyes. I understand though, Granny. I assume your mom was the strongest woman you knew.

As I got older, mama began telling me stories about you and her childhood. You’re literally her hero. One of my favorites is when she told me about the time you left grandad. I admire your discernment to leave a man you knew was unfaithful. Y’all were living on grandaddy’s dad’s land in North Carolina, on a cow pasture. In the middle of one frightening night, you bravely packed up mama, auntie, and your things as quietly as you could and left for South Carolina to live with your parents. Grandaddy didn’t like that too much, and he wanted you back. Heck, who could blame him? You’re an amazing woman. When he came to find you in South Carolina, he tried to kidnap mama from school. Good thing you told them beforehand to not let them take her. As if you had already seen the madness coming. My favorite part about this story is when grandaddy came to the house looking for you and great-granddaddy was about to shoot him with the shotgun.I think that’s hilarious! Mama said you told grandaddy, “Please leave before my daddy kills you.”

I knew you weren’t anything to play with when I heard the story about you getting into a fight, but not just any fight. Lance was walking to the gas station with his homeboys. He was approached by a group of boys who began to fight him. He was left to fight alone when his friends fled the scene, but ‘ole Granny came to the rescue. They said you hopped out of your van, not knowing if it was even parked and fought those boys off of him. While fighting, he dared anybody to touch you.

I couldn’t help but cry the day we went to view your body at the funeral home. It wasn’t when I saw your body, but before, when we were waiting. Mama told everyone you taught yourself how to read. As if you couldn’t get anymore astonishing by simply being who you are. You were forced to quit school to take care of your family, but learning was not limited to the classroom for you. You used to call me your college girl, and always told me I was a “can do type person.” So Granny, thank you. Because of you I can, because of you I will.

You were my strength. How do I know? Because when you died I lost my mind. Never have I ever experienced anxiety. I found out what OCD really was about after you died. The family hasn't been the same. You were the muscle that held us up. A cape, a badge of honor, an award, would do you no justice, Granny. You taught us a lot of things, but how to live without you was not in your curriculum. I remember you would always say, “Lord, what y’all gone do when I’m gone?” The answer to that is “nothing”. Absolutely nothing. April 10th will be 5 years since you left us, and I still don’t know what to do. The older I get the more I yearn for your wisdom, your unconditional love, your strength, your everything I am not. I would give anything to put your socks on again, to wash your back, play with the fat on your arms, take a nap with you, slurp the cabbage juice from our plates (mama hated when we did that), and so much more. I could go on with all of my favorite stories about you and memories with you, but I know you don’t have long here.

Your soul is resting, but mine has not been at peace since that day. Being tough was all you ever knew to be and show so, Granny, you will forever be the toughest woman I know.

PS, I love you. I’m saying it now because the last time I talked to you, I didn’t get the chance to.

PSS, I didn’t make it through this without my eyes watering.