As I am sitting down to type (writing seems to be cathartic for me these days), this is the first time I have been alone for any length of time it seems since it happened, except for the ride home. It's my birthday week and a week from today is (Grand) Mother's Day. I don't foresee this week being any easier than last or next week being easier than this. There will always be a hole and break in my heart from this day forward that will never quite heal, but I know she is watching over me and incredibly proud of me, each and every day.
I wrote the following on April 29 and 30, 2013, and I read it at her funeral on May 1, 2013. Words will never suffice in capturing her spirit and personality, but I hope it gives you a snapshot of the wonderful woman, person, and grandmother that she was and always will be to me.
When I said goodbye
to her and told her I loved her on Monday night a week ago, I knew that I was
never going to see my Gamma again, not on this Earth anyway. And, I do not have a single regret. Not one.
I brought her some
bedding for her hospital bed that we setup in her house last week. The yellow sheets were monogrammed with
“Haley” in red. I knew she’d be so
proud to know that she was sleeping on my sheets, and I rolled the top sheet
down to show her my name. She
pointed and ever so softly, with her mouth full of ulcers and her hardly able
to talk, Gamma told me, Haley, was a very important person.
On the drive home
alone from Charleston, heartbroken with a tear-stained face, I had time to
think about my last few words with my Gamma. As a pastry chef working in the food and beverage industry,
very important people are referred to as VIPs. We send these people extra food courses, a dessert platter,
maybe even sprinkle rose petals on their table. To Gamma, I was a VIP.
Her two daughters, five granddaughters, and one great granddaughter were
all VIPs, the highest of the high, to her. She was proud of us and to her we were the greatest. Whether snuggled up in the middle of
her bed when the power went off at her house with flashlights or visiting her
on Thursday at the beauty shop in the summer, she always made you feel like the
world didn’t matter as long as family was together.
She never missed a
lower school play, a musical, or a Troupe show. She met mom at the “line,” the state line between Georgia
and Florida, when we were sick so she could take care of us while mom
worked. She always let us stop at
the Amoco if she picked us from school to get a pizza. Gamma always stayed with us or the Swanns
after our annual Christmas Eve celebration to see what Santa brought us that
year. She would roll down the
window when we would cough in dismay when she lit a cigarette all those years. She loved flowers and prided herself on
an immaculate yard, and I swear could grow anything, like a cactus in the
middle of April. One of her true
passions was watching the birds; squirrels just really made her mad, sometimes,
eating her bird feed but she outsmarted them in her old age. She drank decaff coffee and recently
thought the Keurig was the greatest invention ever. She loved to eat and was a natural in the kitchen; she was
one of the main reasons I went to culinary school. She loved to look good: her hair dyed just the right color,
her nails long and polished (no one could do her nails like her and she even
painted her nails as they are today), her makeup had to be just right, her
jewels, her clothes, and her shoes.
She made no concessions for who she was, what she believed, and that
mouth, Lord, she could talk to anyone for hours, much to our dismay. She loved my papa, and when he passed
in Gamma’s early 60s, she never thought twice at looking at another man,
mourning his loss for years. She
loved collecting one dollar bills with serial numbers that started with F for
Frances, and her grandchildren loved spending them on Black Friday. I will miss seeing her sitting at her
spot on the couch at the condo at the beach, waiting for us to come up from
outside, watching her story, The Young and the Restless. She never acted disappointed in us but
exclaimed that she wouldn’t tell her friends that it was real, when I got my
nose-pierced. She loved sports:
Brett Favre was a son to her, and the world around her stopped when basketball
was on the tv, again, much to our dismay.
She tried to be fair when cheering for the Georgia Bulldogs and the
Auburn Tigers, and I think she wished both teams could win in the end. Until she was wheelchair bound, I do
not remember a time that she did not dance as she waved goodbye to us after
leaving her house. She loved
country music, and nobody quite sang it like Alan Jackson. She was vivacious, a character, spunky,
vibrant, and a ball of fire, living life to the fullest each and every day.
Memories with her are
vivid and abundant. Not only were
so many treated like VIPS by my grandmother, but to her family and her dear
friends, Gamma was a one-of-a-kind, the ultimate VIP. She died five days shy of being exactly 85 years 6
months. And though we knew that
the end was inevitable, it doesn’t make the pain of losing her any less
gut-wrenching. In her lifetime,
she saw 15 presidents in office.
She lived through World War II, War in Afghanistan, and all the
conflicts in between. She saw the Great
Depression, the height of Elvis, and the Twin Towers fall. She saw racial barriers break down,
though not completely shatter. She
watched Destin go from a small seaside town to a tourist destination,
devastated time and again my nature’s fury in multiple hurricanes. She braved cancer in many forms and
never, not once, even thought about giving up. She is a survivor, in ever sense of the word; she is my
hero.
All that is important
on this day is that Gamma was a VIP not only to those around her but to the Lord,
Jesus Christ. He was and has been
waiting for her for 85 years and five days shy of 6 months. His timing is perfect and divine, and
though it is hard for us to say goodbye, we know deep in our hearts that she is
healed now, cancer-free, walking, and with no pain or sorrow. She is dancing and waving goodbye to
us, as she did so many times, at the footsteps of Jesus. She is home.
Selfishly, I wanted
her to see me walk down the aisle to Brady in June of next year. I wanted her to meet my children. I wanted her to take care of them when
they were sick like she did me. I
wanted her to see them at the beach.
She was my biggest supporter, my brightest memories, my definition of
true love, my smile on a rainy day, she was my Gamma. And though she won’t be there to see me dressed in white, I
will find a way to honor her on that special day, because I know she’ll be
there, in the flowers, in the music, on the happiest day of my life.
A friend of mine sent
me a message Sunday and she told me that “we mourn for ourselves and not for
who we have lost because they are getting to experience all God’s Glory.” I will think of Gamma every day and
mourn for what the world has lost, but I know that one day I will see her
again. I can only imagine the
parade in Heaven Sunday, with Gam seeing her one true love, the one she never
tried to replace, in papa, seeing her parents and her siblings that went before
her, and meeting Jesus, saying she gave it all she had, she gave her best, and
it is finished.
To Ms. Hildred, we
can never truly show our gratitude to you for the highest level of care you
gave to Gamma over the past year and a half. There are no words to adequately express our appreciation
for the love, devotion, and respect you gave to her at the most vulnerable of
times. You are an angel to our
family, a true sister to Gamma, and forever a part of this family. You allowed her to stay at home, where
she loved to be, and I truly believe you extended her life and improved her
quality of life. Thank you from
the bottom of our hearts. A
million times and again, thank you.
I love you, Gamma,
and my world will never be the same without you. Thank you for 26 years of unconditional love and support to
carry me through all the rest of my days.
Earth lost a true light in my grandmother but Heaven sure is a little
sweeter.
BITTERSWEET BUT BLESSED
Hay Reh
