Wednesday, April 8, 2009

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


8 comments:

  1. Oh how I miss her deeply. Tears are rolling down my face now some happy and some sad remembering the good times, but sad because she doesn't get to know my 3 precious ones. She was an amazing woman who I hope I can just resemble in some small way. Thanks for the memories!!

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  2. Tears are in my eyes, too! I never met her, but I wish I could have. How blessed you were to know and love her, and to have all those wonderful memories even ten years after her death. That is a beautiful post. Love you!

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  3. Mindi,
    I have been reading and enjoying your blog for about six months. You are just as funny and as smart as you were in Jr. High. I love reading your thoughts about life and I am so proud of your marathon running!
    Today's post was absolutely beautiful. Your words literally brought me to tears. What a beautiful tribute to your grandmother. Oddly enough, on March 25th, it has been 10 years since my mom died. I agree - some days it is nothing and some days it is everything.
    Thank you for sharing your thoughts with the world. You have a gift!

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  4. Mindi, Mindi... this post made me cry too. I love how you wrote this post - straight from you heart! Love you!

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  5. I am glad that you shared part of Heath and your grandma with me--I never got to meet her--THANKS--I know that she would be very proud of you--and so glad that you are her granddaughter!

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  6. Ross Ann, I am so glad you commented! I remember a conversation I had with you after your mom died. You said to make sure I learned everything I could from my mother while she was here because when they're gone, there's so much you realize you should have paid closer attention to. I seem to recall that the conversation was inspired by you trying to make your mom's butter beans (I still have the uncanny memory from junior high, too!). I hope March 25th was a good day of reflection for you. Take care!

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  7. I know Mother is smiling from Heaven at the person you have become. Thank you so much for expressing what I know all of us feel about Mother. I love you. Mom

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  8. I actually cannot read this enough. It is so very touching, and everytime it touches me even more. I have been thinking about what to say for a couple of days and I hope you know my heart. I wish I would have known her better. Your mom has often said, my Grandmommy reminds her of Mamaw. What amazing women!!! Only to be such hard working, caring, loyal, patient, detailed women. I pray our children and grandchildren will love and cherish us as we do them. I have the candy dish and bag Mamaw made us, that Christmas, it is one of the only things that I have of hers. Although, it is not fancy or expensive, it is something I will pass on to my kids. I use the candy dish often and have told Bailey about Mamaw. I feel they will know Mamaw thru Mimi's fried pies, banana cake and thru her love and devotion to them. I went to your grandparents when they were at the lake a couple times and only got a taste of the wonderful memories that I know you made there. I look forward to June at the lake. I truely hope this makes sense, and I have been sobbing now way too long, Landry wants to know what is wrong.Jen Derek says I should blog, what about anonbloggerblogging!!!!

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