It has been a year since my grandmother called my name.
For 14 nights I sat by her side, talking to her and reading to her and singing. The nurses kept telling me she couldn’t hear me but I would see a tear roll down her soft wrinkled cheek every so often when I would read something I knew she liked. I was there when she drew her last breath. Let me tell you about my grandmother, Earlene Brown Tedford Alexander.
There will never be another Earlene. If ever there was a woman that was proud as a peacock, that would be Earlene. She was always dressed up. When other grandmothers would put on some tennis shoes or other type of sensible shoe, here would come my Mamaw, trotting out in her pumps with that purse slung on that arm. It’s a wonder in all of her 92 years that she didn’t fall and break a bone. The only bone that I do know that she broke was when she hugged one of her nephews a bit too hard and she popped a rib. I thought it was a freak thing that happened until the same thing happened to me a few years later!
My memories of Mamaw are varied. She could make a mean chocolate ‘gravy’ for my breakfast biscuit.
She always doubled up on my name. Vonda Anne always came out as VonDan. I can hear her saying it now. ‘VonDan!, come here and give Mamaw a hug.’. Then it was time for THE KISS. There was never an escape. You were going to get THE KISS.
Through the years I would go and see Mamaw and eat with her. She would make some homemade tomato soup so loaded with hot chow-chow, that you would need a fire extinguisher to cool you down. I could not drink enough tea to cool that heat. Years later she tried to remember her recipe but age had taken that memory.
In the last few years of her life I would go and get her and she would sit and help me peel cucumbers to make pickles or peel tomatoes for canning. Then she would fuss at me and tell me I ought to be ashamed of myself for making an old woman work like that. She didn’t turn down those pickles when they were ready to eat though. “VonDan! Bring me a jar of those pickle we made.”
A few days before she died, she told me she just wasn’t hungry anymore. When I asked her what she thought would taste good, she smiled at me and said a banana split would hit the spot. The next day I packed my cooler full of ice and made a trip to the Sonic and bought a banana split. I took it to the nursing home and when I walked in her room, she was lying on her bed taking a nap. I set the dish on the table and called her name. When she opened those blue eyes and saw that banana split she sat up and clapped her hands. “Ooo! VonDan! I can’t eat that whole thing!” I produced two spoons and we attacked that ice cream like a couple of little kids. She smacked her lips and ate that ice cream with relish. She looked at me and grinned and let out the most unladylike belch! We had the best visit over that one banana split.
When I left her that afternoon, she pointed to the red hat I had given her for her birthday. She had called me one afternoon and told me about a ‘hat contest’ at the nursing home. She wanted to win it more than anything. “VonDan, can you find me a hat? I want a fancy one so I can win this contest.” So I found her a red hat with feathers. She won and she was so proud of that hat. She told me to take it home because she wasn’t going to get to wear it again. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer so I left with the hat.
I can still see her sitting there, head cocked to one side, snow white hair and those ice blue eyes magnified by her glasses, smiling at me. “VonDan, when are you coming back to see me?” Tomorrow Mamaw. I’ll be back tomorrow. She slipped into a coma that night.
It’s been a year since my grandmother said my name.
For 14 nights I sat by her side, talking to her and reading to her and singing. The nurses kept telling me she couldn’t hear me but I would see a tear roll down her soft wrinkled cheek every so often when I would read something I knew she liked. I was there when she drew her last breath. Let me tell you about my grandmother, Earlene Brown Tedford Alexander.
There will never be another Earlene. If ever there was a woman that was proud as a peacock, that would be Earlene. She was always dressed up. When other grandmothers would put on some tennis shoes or other type of sensible shoe, here would come my Mamaw, trotting out in her pumps with that purse slung on that arm. It’s a wonder in all of her 92 years that she didn’t fall and break a bone. The only bone that I do know that she broke was when she hugged one of her nephews a bit too hard and she popped a rib. I thought it was a freak thing that happened until the same thing happened to me a few years later!
My memories of Mamaw are varied. She could make a mean chocolate ‘gravy’ for my breakfast biscuit.
She always doubled up on my name. Vonda Anne always came out as VonDan. I can hear her saying it now. ‘VonDan!, come here and give Mamaw a hug.’. Then it was time for THE KISS. There was never an escape. You were going to get THE KISS.
Through the years I would go and see Mamaw and eat with her. She would make some homemade tomato soup so loaded with hot chow-chow, that you would need a fire extinguisher to cool you down. I could not drink enough tea to cool that heat. Years later she tried to remember her recipe but age had taken that memory.
In the last few years of her life I would go and get her and she would sit and help me peel cucumbers to make pickles or peel tomatoes for canning. Then she would fuss at me and tell me I ought to be ashamed of myself for making an old woman work like that. She didn’t turn down those pickles when they were ready to eat though. “VonDan! Bring me a jar of those pickle we made.”
A few days before she died, she told me she just wasn’t hungry anymore. When I asked her what she thought would taste good, she smiled at me and said a banana split would hit the spot. The next day I packed my cooler full of ice and made a trip to the Sonic and bought a banana split. I took it to the nursing home and when I walked in her room, she was lying on her bed taking a nap. I set the dish on the table and called her name. When she opened those blue eyes and saw that banana split she sat up and clapped her hands. “Ooo! VonDan! I can’t eat that whole thing!” I produced two spoons and we attacked that ice cream like a couple of little kids. She smacked her lips and ate that ice cream with relish. She looked at me and grinned and let out the most unladylike belch! We had the best visit over that one banana split.
When I left her that afternoon, she pointed to the red hat I had given her for her birthday. She had called me one afternoon and told me about a ‘hat contest’ at the nursing home. She wanted to win it more than anything. “VonDan, can you find me a hat? I want a fancy one so I can win this contest.” So I found her a red hat with feathers. She won and she was so proud of that hat. She told me to take it home because she wasn’t going to get to wear it again. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer so I left with the hat.
I can still see her sitting there, head cocked to one side, snow white hair and those ice blue eyes magnified by her glasses, smiling at me. “VonDan, when are you coming back to see me?” Tomorrow Mamaw. I’ll be back tomorrow. She slipped into a coma that night.
It’s been a year since my grandmother said my name.
No comments:
Post a Comment