Ten Years

10 years. 3,650 days.

Some days it feels like just a moment ago.

I was in college. It was a Thursday. I was planning on ditching class on Friday and coming after my Thursday classes. I planned on relieving Mom and her sisters. I already knew what I’d do first—rub lotion on your back. You asked me to do that when I saw you for the last time, and I still remember you saying, “That feels so good.” The last conversation we had was about whether I enjoyed going to the play “To Kill a Mockingbird” with Jonathan, and the last thing you said to me was, “Tell Jonathan hi.” I love that. I love that there were thirteen of us, yet you still made time to know the details of our lives. You may not have coined the phrase “life is in the details”, but you certainly lived it.

The funeral was horrible…so impersonal. Denise and I did read a poem that Amy wrote for you. That was about the only personal thing that happened. We all still carry the regret and will make it right when Grandaddy goes. The singing was particularly bad. We needed your alto.

Some days it feels like a lifetime ago.

I spent that summer in Europe, and I didn’t get to send you a postcard. I distinctly remember getting tears in my eyes every time I bought a postcard. I loved our letter writing. No one does much of it anymore. I saved almost all of your letters. It hurts too badly to read them very often, but I love it when I do. I make it a point to send handwritten letters now, in a world where they’ve gone by the wayside. And I think of you each time I do it.

I graduated from college, got engaged, had bridal showers with no crocheted pot holders or hand knit dish cloths, got no envelope of money for my first grocery bill. Grandaddy didn’t even come to my wedding. I hated that. I know you would have hated that.

I went and stayed with him a couple of times after you were gone. Several of us granddaughters did—to clean up after him and make sure he was fed (how did you do it all those years?). I got to know him in a way I never did when you were here. You always did outshine him. I loved who I got to know, had a lot of hope for the relationship we might have. He was funny and sarcastic, but also weak and vulnerable. After spending that time with him, I felt personally betrayed that he married her. I talked to him on the phone asking him to please come to the wedding and not bring her. He hung up on me. His mind was already going, and I understand that now. I still wish you were there to swat him though. You made him a better man. And without you…well, he’s just a man that could be better. You’d be so proud of how your girls take care of him. I’m not sure if they do it for you or for him, and I’m not sure they know, or if it even matters. They do it, and they do it well.

I married Jonathan. I’m so happy that you knew him, but I’m sad that he didn’t know you when you were healthier. I still tell the story about when I knew I loved him. You made me an angel food cake (as you always did when I visited) and had cool whip and strawberries. Cool whip repulses Jonathan, but you didn’t know that. You served him a slice of cake with a giant dollop of cool whip on it. He took it and ate it without saying a word because he wouldn’t dare hurt your feelings. He’s done many things just as small but at the same time significant in the last ten years. You would love him.

I got my first job, moved to Louisiana, moved to Houston, moved to Oklahoma, moved to New Jersey, quit my first job, went to law school, graduated from law school, moved to Amarillo, went to Europe, became an aunt a dozen times over, and developed a relationship with Mom and Lori that would make you smile as much as it makes me smile.

I lost my Granny, lost my way, lost some friends, lost touch with most of my cousins which makes me sick and would make you sicker. I found a soul mate, found a profession I love, found a town I’m content with, found a best friend, and generally, just found the way I'd lost.

All in the last 10 years.

Lori had 3 babies. Derek had 4 babies. Heath met a precious wife and had a baby. Eight grandchildren my mother has whom you have not met (or maybe you gave them sweet kisses before God sent them to us?). Eight sets of booties that went unmade. It makes my heart sick for you, but mostly for them. That your rough hands will not hold them, coo at them, or make them tacos, homemade pizza, fried fish, fried pies, or banana nut cake with the hard, yummy icing. That they will not know the joys of going to the lake in the summer, of getting their sunburns treated with an aloe vera plant, of both crying when they’re left, and crying when they leave.

We’re going back this summer. All of us. I love that we’ll be there the summer of this tenth year—an anniversary of sorts. I love it that they’ll be at the lake that holds so many happy memories.

We all miss you. I miss you. I remember you. I think of you. I think of you when Mom makes apricot fried pies, when I make tacos, when I bake anything from scratch, when I have sandwiches on a Sunday night with fresh bread and a fresh tomato, when I see or eat anything with blackberries, when my hands crack (because I have dry skin like you), when I see Kamryn’s cracked fingers (because she has dry skin like you, too), when Bailey wants to eat at Dairy Queen (I just know you would save your DQ coupons for her), when I get out a rolling pin, address a letter, need something hemmed, beg Mom to make the good icing for the red velvet cake. I think of you when I go to church, when I don’t want to go to church, when I hear a good alto in church, when I celebrate an anniversary, when I’d rather quit than celebrate another anniversary (how did you make it to 61?), when I go to the Dollar Store, when I pass a Golden Corral.

Some days it’s the small things. Some days it’s the big things.

Some days it’s nothing. Some days it’s everything.

Some days it feels like a lifetime ago. Some days it feels like a moment ago.

I hope 10 years feels like only a moment ago where you are.

I love you.

Imarene Ragsdale Jones

February 11, 1921-April 8, 1999

“Her children rise up and call her blessed.” ~Proverbs 31:28

Wife to Felix

Mother to Bobby, Kathryn, Bonnie, & Helen

Mammaw to Barry, Carla, Denise, Wade, Chad, Brent, Amy, Lori, Kirk, Derek, Stan, Mindi, & Heath

Great-Mammaw to Macy, Kevin, Brandon, Nancy, Blake, Sam, Grady, Mark, Hannah, Jacob, Jonah, Sydney, Alayna, Taytum, Ellie, John Alan, Brileigh, Kamryn, Brody, Bailey, Landry, Kassidy, Kinley, Blaze, Cole, and Kylie