She was in her mid-nineties when Drew and I moved up here. She was short and sharp, still able to get around even though she needed that little walker.
When we were home a few months ago, I stopped by the assisted living home and stayed for a quiet and slightly uncomfortable moment. She didn’t say much, but I knew she recognized me. She was laying in bed. Cheeks hollow. Eyes darkened and moving slowly. Ears deafened by age. Fingers still faithfully painted bright red, as always.
When we left the nursing home, I told myself to remember the moment – it could be our last.
I remember “Gran-Granny’s” old house. The multi-colored setting hens in the shed out back past the fish pond where my brother and I never caught a single fish. Her old rickety twenty-year-old ice cream churn, and how she’d make us fresh peach ice-cream on the Fourth of July. The huge sitting freezer chest that all true southern women have, to store last year’s harvest as well as this year’s kill. Sometimes, she’d just let me reach down in there and pick out a pint-sized bag of frozen peaches. After they thawed, she’d hand me a spoon. I could eat the whole bag if she’d let me. I loved her peaches. She loved mail. Checked it every day. And, when old age threatened her trips to the mail box, she’d ask someone else about the mail. Always. Every day.
I’d go visit her when I came home from college. We’d talk for a bit, not really about anything. Usually we’d just watch Wheel of Fortune together and then she’d make me eat something. In saying goodbye, she’d always say “Send me a note, honey.” “Yes ma’am, Gran-Granny. I will.”
After I moved to St. Simons Island, I didn’t get home as much as before. But, I’d always make it a point to stop by & see her. “Send me a note, honey, if you think about me.” “Yes ma’am.”
I’ve only seen her a handful of times since we moved to Boston. “Send me a note sometime, honey.”
This morning my dad called with news that she passed away. Before I checked plane tickets, before I ate breakfast, before I even got dressed for the day, I thought about that note I never sent her… How much more valuable it would’ve been than any over-priced red-eye from BOS to SAV this weekend. How much more it would’ve meant to her to have received a hand-written note from me, instead of my signature on the guest attendance book at the church entrance in three days.
Ten years of asking…
Ten years.
Some things can only be done in a life time, and can never be made up for when the moment has passed.
Oh Mandy, I am so sorry for your lost. Bless you. Try not to be too hard on yourself. Peace to you.
I am so sorry Mandy.
My heart goes out to you. I lost my grandmother, uncle, and cat within one year. It’s hard when you’ve got so many regrets.
Especially at the funeral, you think of so many things you could’ve done.
Fortunately this is always a reminder to cherish those that are still with us. For it is with those people that we can make up for.
When it rains, it pours.
I’m so sorry, Mandy.
This is a beautiful tribute to your gran-granny, Mandy. I’m glad that you have sweet memories of her.
I am so sorry to hear that. I think all the time I should call or send my grandmother a card but then I get busy and never do it. I think I need to make a trip to the post office!
Maybe someday, when or if you are ready, you could still write the hand-written note to her with your signature. It’s not the same I know. It might help you heal though. Just a thought that came to my mind.
I pray for you. I know the lose of a special gran is hard. Be safe in your travels. Maybe write the letter now.
Sending you big hugs. This might be that time you cry.
Prayers and Hugs from afar.
Theresa
Girl…
(( feel me hugging ))
You can still write that letter, If she has an ounce of faith like her grandaughters amazing faith, she’ll read it from afar. She saw these words and was smiling.
I’m so sorry. I’ll be praying for you and your family.
I am sorry for your loss, heartache and regret.
I don’t know you well enough to really say much more. Please know though, that my heart goes out to you.
So sorry for the pain you are going through, I love you and praying for you and your family at this time…I know it doesn’t sound like much, I wish I could do more…my heart is breaking for you…
I’m so sorry, Mandy.
I just knew there was not going to be good news at the end. My heart is sad for you. Very sad.
Oh how I love my granny. She too loves notes. *sigh*
Thank you for this. Thank you.
(((HUGS))) for you at this time, and always really. ♥
Yes,I am with Heidi. Write her that letter now. She will still get it. Give it to her.
I’m so sorry, Mandy.
I’m praying for you and your family’s loss.
so, sorry mandy. i’ll keep you and your family in my prayers.
I wrote my Grandma a poem. She got it. Like Brandy said.
Sorry for your loss Mandy.
man, this one got me. wow.
i’m sorry.
i am really sorry, mandy. =(
Hi Mandy… I’m really sorry for your loss and am keeping you in my prayers.
You’ve motivated me. My grandma always asks me to send her “an old fashioned letter” (since she knows I’m always on email, etc…)… and I’m going to write her one right now.
I’m confident… your grandma knew full well that you treasured her… don’t let your heart stay burdened…
Ran across your blog today via Mandy Conforth. Just thought I’d give ya a shoutout.
So sorry for your loss . . .She sounds like a wonderful lady.
i’m here if/when you need me…
I’m sorry for your loss, Mandy. I’ll pray for your family. I, too, missed an opportunity to show my Granny how much I loved her before she died. I was in town and should have visited her. She was in the hospital. But she’d been sick often and I figured I’d just see her the next time. The next time didn’t come.
I think your Gran-Granny and my Granny know how much we loved them, though. And I think your other friends are right – if it would help you, write that note now.
God bless.
Sharp. Poignant. True. Sad. Moving.
oh i am so sorry, mandy…
did you end up writing a letter?