2012 was a pretty rough year for me. I've posted about having to put my precious furbaby to sleep last March. I also lost 2 grandparents, my mom's dad "Papaw Elmer" and the sperm-donor's mother "Mamaw MaryLee". I don't process death like most people do. I grieve on my own terms, and rarely do I cry. Is that weird? Maybe, but it's me. I'm the "take-charge" one. The "what do we need to do/who do we need to call" one. Maybe it's my Type A personality. But, in the past month, I've been having a rough time with these losses.
Papaw was the one who first spoiled me when I was born. On this side of the family, I was the first grandchild (for 2 years), the first granddaughter (for 3 years), the first great-granddaughter. Yep, rotten to a T! He's the reason I love old tractors, he's the reason I'm stubborn as a mule and take crap from nobody. He's the reason I only want my steaks marinated in Italian dressing.
Growing up the way I did, I held grudges for a while because he (and my grandmother) knew how my home life was and left me there to be the responsible one. Maybe they were protecting their child. Maybe they knew it'd shape my character into the woman I am. Who knows. But one of the biggest regrets that I have is that I let those years pass by, I was stubborn. I made peace with that long before he died, but you never get time back.
He'd had health problems, being a lifelong smoker. He had emphysema, he'd had pneumonia numerous times (and almost died more than once). But he'd been better. He passed peacefully in his sleep, very unexpectedly. My grandmother found him on the morning of February 12, with a smile on his face. But, I can't remember the last time I told him I loved him. I can only hope that he passed knowing that he had a lot to do with how I am, and knowing that I loved him. We buried him on Valentine's Day, their favorite holiday.
This was Christmas a few years ago. It was so strange not having him there for Thanksgiving and Christmas this year...Mamaw Bertha (his wife) is the only grandparent I have still living now. I'm trying to do better about calling her once a week, they'd been together since they were teenagers. And now, she's alone. Thankfully my aunt is GREAT about checking on her, stopping daily to check on her, and my uncle lives stone-throw away. But, at night, it's just her in the house that they built, alone. That can't be easy, though she's doing better now.
Mamaw MaryLee was the everything. When my parents divorced when I was 6, it was she and papaw that would drive 3 hours to get us every other weekend, and we spent summers with them. There was a neighborhood full of kids. We went outside and sun-up, and came back after sundown. No one worried where we were. It wasn't a big neighborhood full of large houses, but it was safe. She didn't sleep with the doors locked until the past few years, the kind of neighborhood where you just didn't worry about things like that. She cooked every night during the week, and would go out of her way to make sure me, Shannon, and Jennifer each had something on the table that we would eat. We were the house everyone came to - trampoline, swingset, basketball goal, slip-n-slide, my grandfather even built us a playhouse with electricity to "camp" in. (I think he might've just gotten tired of kids parading in and out of the house, ha!)
She'd been sick for awhile. Papaw passed away in 2000 (I think), and I'd always said I needed him to go before her. She's where my independent side comes from, she's the reason I have no filter between my brain and my mouth, the reason I'm so set in my ways. (Yes, both sets of grandparents are like that, I didn't stand a chance!) When I visited Christmas 2011, I knew that she wouldn't make it another year. They'd found a hernia sitting on her stomach, and she wasn't eating because she already felt full. My aunt moved in (after the doctor suggested a nursing home) and cooked, cleaned, and got her weight up some. She started going downhill around June, and just kept getting worse. I knew it was time. Thankfully, I got to make a few visits before she passed, and I was there when she died. Her last words were telling "the girls" (me and my sisters) that she loved us. She gave up after that, and passed away about 12 hours later, in her home, August 13.
Shannon and I were sitting on the porch around 5:00am the day she passed, and one of her rose bushes had bloomed a single yellow rose, overnight. Two days later, the day we buried her, it died. She loved her flowers so much! There wasn't much we got in trouble for at her house, but messing with her flower garden was at the top of the list!
Her birthday was January 31, and it really hit me. I couldn't call her to tell her Happy Birthday. I couldn't hear the excitement in her voice when she heard my voice on the other end of the phone. I couldn't hear the tears of joy when she thanked me for remembering her.
My point with all this rambling is this, tell those you love how much they mean to you every chance you get. Cherish every moment you get to spend with those you love. You never know when the last time you see or speak to them will really be your last time.
