101

Today is what would have been my MamMaw's 101st birthday.

She lived to be 98, and I'd have given anything to see her hold my baby boy.

She was one heck of a lady.

Born in 1910, you can only imagine the things she got to see. I actually interviewed her on video back in college about her life. Not for an assignment, but because I wanted that history recorded. From her perspective. She described fond memories of games she'd play with her friends when they were young, where she worked, and how my grandmother slept in a dresser drawer when she was an infant. And of course, spoke plenty about her sisters that she remained close to until the end.

She talked about the Great Depression some and how hard it was. However, we were cautious not to make her uncomfortable, although I was dying to know how she felt about other not-so-glamorous parts of life. You see, she was virtually a single mother. She had married a man who was in and out of her life. Imagine being a single, working mother in the 1930s. Pretty sure it wasn't as acceptable in society as it is now. She endured some pretty heavy stuff. Yet despite that, she remained one of the most graceful, forgiving, and sweetest women I've ever known. You never felt one ounce of bitterness, judgement, or condescension. The woman never complained about anything. Ever. She successfully raised an amazing daughter, the valedictorian of her class. She was proud of her little mill house, the one my grandparents got married in, and the one she privately told me she wanted to stay in until she died. She almost got that wish, but for health reasons had to live with my grandparents. My grandmother frequently took her "home" though. That tiny home was the location of many Christmas Eve parties, holding 20+ people. And for me, it never felt cramped. It was cozy.

As a kid, I spent every Friday night at her home.

My parents would go on a date night, while I stayed with her. We would take walks through the neighborhood, sometimes all the way to the nearby Hardees for some ice cream, where she would proudly tell the cashier that I was her great-granddaughter.

We would visit neighbors, pick up "helicopter leaves", and walk a little faster passed the house with the mean looking dogs out front. I would fall asleep on her couch, listening to whatever baseball/basketball game was on. She loved sports.

As I got older, obviously the visits became less frequent. I would talk with her at our monthly family gatherings and all that. One night when Brad and I were dating, we decided to take her out for dinner (to the K&W... where else?). I don't think I'd seen her that happy in a long time. Just like when I was small, she proudly announced to everyone that her great-grandchildren had chosen to spend their Friday night with her. To make things ever better? Her sister arrived with her children, and she was so excited to show her that we had taken her out. She thanked us multiple times, and told us how it was so sweet of us to do this for her. I could tell she felt special, and that was my goal. I wanted her to know how much I still loved her, and I think she got it.

She loved Brad.

Brad made her laugh and took the time to talk to her at every family function. As her hearing declined, fewer and fewer people would attempt meaningful conversations with her. Brad never stopped making her feel special. I love knowing that she approved. She knew he loved me, and she knew he'd take care of me.

I had begged the Lord to let her live long enough to be there on my wedding day.

He did.

She was so happy, and I treasure the pictures with her in them.

Four months later, she went home to be with the Lord.

I was there with her the day before she died. It wasn't easy to see her that way, but I wanted her to know I was there. She lived a very full life. One filled with honor and grace and a love for Jesus.

My MamMaw was a fantastic quilter. She made all of her great-grandkids their own quilts, usually one for show and one for use. She must have known I would've wanted one for my kids. Before her hands stopped working well, she had taken the time to put another one together, with her daughter's help. At my baby shower, my grandmother gave me a baby blue quilt stitched together by my MamMaw. And of course, it took everything I had to fight back those tears.

It now sits in Noah's reading nook in his room.

I adored that woman.

Thankfully, I have the promise that I will be with her again.

But today, I wanted to celebrate her 101st birthday in my own way.
There's nothing really out there on the internet about her, except for maybe a small blip about her life span.
And that's now been fixed. Because she deserves way more than to be just a blip in history.

Happy 101, MamMaw!

We miss you.

xoxo.

Never Forget

I can't believe it's already been 9 years.
The first time I'd heard of anything, Brad and I were in our Communications class at the local community college. We'd heard a plane ran into a building in New York, and the comments started flying: "What an idiot!", "How could he have ran into a building??", "Was anyone hurt?"... at that point, none of us knew anything.
During my history class, several people in there were talking about family members in NY and how they hadn't heard from them yet. People started talking about how another plane ran into the building, and there was chaos up there. This is when I realized something was really wrong. I was totally confused, because at this point, there weren't any answers. We let out of class early, and I ran down to the main building where Brad was in the middle of a math exam. In the room across the hall, the staff had set up a small tv for us to watch what was going on.
That's when I first saw the images. The buildings on fire, people panicking, and ash everywhere. It was horrifying. They mentioned it was most likely an attack, not an accident. And then I felt like panicking. Why was Brad taking so freakin long?? As soon as he emerged, I bombarded him with all of this information, showed him the tv, and that's when we decided it'd be best to skip our last class and get out of there.

I called my mom, and she was totally freaked. Apparently, there were security guards searching the campus for me. She asked them to send me home asap. Back then, I thought that was a little much, but now that I'm a mom... I get it. She needed all of her babies together with her. As for Brad, she told him he needed to go help at Ground Zero... hehe just kidding. Brad told me to put that. :)

We rushed home as quickly as we could, sharing our theories and fears. When we arrived at my house, Harrison was sitting in the kitchen in front of the tv, in his pajamas, with an unloaded rifle across his lap. Most 11 year old kids would've been a little freaked, I would think. Heck, I was freaked. But no, my little brother was ready to take on some terrorists. lol. It's no wonder he joined the Army.
My little sister was home, but we refused to tell her what was going on. There was no reason to have a 4 year old freaking out, stealing away her feeling of security, and exposing her to something that would've been way over her head. It just would've resulted in nightmares and panic attacks. She's pretty sensitive about stuff like that.

So that's my story.

I'm so amazed at the men and women who were involved in the rescues, those who sacrificed their lives to  help others that were trapped, and the country in general for pulling together during that time. Whether you agree with what came before or after this event, politically, there's no arguing it was incredible to watch our country come together. People were helpful, sacrificial, and good.

So where were you?