Today I took a long look at my hands. I do this from time to time. Whenever I do I think of my Grandma, aka, Ma-maw. She was a tiny woman. The heaviest she ever weighed was 107 pounds and she was pregnant and when my aunt was born she was 7 pounds. When she died she was a tiny 88 pounds. Once she got as tiny as 73 pounds. She was tiny but she was wiry and she was a tough old bird. When a person survives polio and not only survives but had three children and walked when her folks said she never would, they are tough. She died tough too. A fighter to the very end.
What I remember the most about her though is her hands. The hours I would lie with my head in her lap and watch scary movies with Elvira as the hostess on Saturday night. Mostly I would lie and look at her hands to keep from seeing the scary parts. I close my eyes and her hands are what I see. The smells from cooking, cleaning, smoking, and the scent of Oil of Olay on her hands. My youngest was 2 when she died in my arms, next week will be his 9th birthday and her 7th anniversary of her death. She told me in the hospital she was sorry she couldn't make it to the baby's party. The look in her eyes told me it was soon going to be the last time I saw those big blue eyes and last time I saw her hands.
When I got older and I could carry on a conversation we would sit and talk for hours about ghosts,aliens, astrology, numerology, and various other non-Christian topics. She told me things she never shared with the rest of the family. She was revered just before her death by her daughters as being a good Baptist woman. I didn't know that woman. I knew the little old lady that was known for her fiery temper, not afraid of using her shot gun, and pronounced many words incorrectly because of her Appalachian upbringing. She was a witchy woman with a kettle of food always brewing but she only drank coffee.
She was difficult, stubborn, and hell bent on things going a certain way. She was tender, loving, and only whipped you if you scared her.
I miss you, Grandma. I am grateful for you teaching me how to cook when the cupboards looked bare. Thank you for showing me how to get grease from clothes. Thank you for opening my mind to other possibilities other than religion. Thank you! You were the best damn old lady in the world. Thank you for the many hours you spent with me. I am sad you can no longer physically interface with me but I know you are doing something grand and new. Just promise me to keep your shot gun in the closet ;o)
Seven years feel like yesterday and at the same time 100 years ago. Enjoy your journey! Until we meet again in another life, I still love you.
Yours truly,
Pumpkin
What I remember the most about her though is her hands. The hours I would lie with my head in her lap and watch scary movies with Elvira as the hostess on Saturday night. Mostly I would lie and look at her hands to keep from seeing the scary parts. I close my eyes and her hands are what I see. The smells from cooking, cleaning, smoking, and the scent of Oil of Olay on her hands. My youngest was 2 when she died in my arms, next week will be his 9th birthday and her 7th anniversary of her death. She told me in the hospital she was sorry she couldn't make it to the baby's party. The look in her eyes told me it was soon going to be the last time I saw those big blue eyes and last time I saw her hands.
When I got older and I could carry on a conversation we would sit and talk for hours about ghosts,aliens, astrology, numerology, and various other non-Christian topics. She told me things she never shared with the rest of the family. She was revered just before her death by her daughters as being a good Baptist woman. I didn't know that woman. I knew the little old lady that was known for her fiery temper, not afraid of using her shot gun, and pronounced many words incorrectly because of her Appalachian upbringing. She was a witchy woman with a kettle of food always brewing but she only drank coffee.
She was difficult, stubborn, and hell bent on things going a certain way. She was tender, loving, and only whipped you if you scared her.
I miss you, Grandma. I am grateful for you teaching me how to cook when the cupboards looked bare. Thank you for showing me how to get grease from clothes. Thank you for opening my mind to other possibilities other than religion. Thank you! You were the best damn old lady in the world. Thank you for the many hours you spent with me. I am sad you can no longer physically interface with me but I know you are doing something grand and new. Just promise me to keep your shot gun in the closet ;o)
Seven years feel like yesterday and at the same time 100 years ago. Enjoy your journey! Until we meet again in another life, I still love you.
Yours truly,
Pumpkin
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