Friday, September 12, 2003
It's not even 11 a.m., and I'm already hungry for lunch. But since I'm not having lunch with Kelly until 12:30, I suppose I'll post a little something here first. :)
It's been a good week. Class is going well -- my students are really good at the whole discussion thing, which makes me very happy. After all, who wants to lecture the whole time (or sit in a desk and WATCH someone lecture for 50 minutes)? So the fact that they're willing to speak up about suburbanization, television, current events, and the like has made me very happy. We'll see what they do with the Lost Generation on Monday...
I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother this week. Thoughts of her manifest themselves in many unexpected ways and places. For instance, I was on my way to the water fountain at work the other day when it hit me -- she wasn't here anymore. I mean, I already knew that, have known that since the end of July. But, now that a month has passed, the reality is beginning to set in. I don't want to ever forget her sayings, her phrases that were uniquely Mary Alyce's: "Oh, boy!" "Well, I'll be John Brown." "Oh, foot." "Well, that is wonderful."
That last one was always my favorite when it was directed at me. :) See, if you told her something that was good news, and she knew it HAD to be good news but wasn't quite sure what it meant, she would say supportively, "Oh, boy!" But if you explained the significance of the event, of the milestone, a little clearer, she would pause and respond, "Well, that is wonderful, (name of child/grandchild/other relative/friend)." Then, you see, you knew she understood.
So, naturally, I always loved to hear that phrase with my name attached to the end of it. But she didn't say "Hope." No, ma'am. Her thick Dothan accent, mixed with a little North Florida charm, made my name come out less like "Hope" and more like "Hawpe." And when I think of those unique inflections, those turns of phrase that were inseparably intertwined in her vocabulary, it hits me. What I would give to hear them again. Just once, even.
But if I think about it, REALLY think about it, I realize she hasn't really gone, at least not too far. Her legacy and lessons live on in her physical absence and give me a closeness that comforts me.
It's easy to forget about legacies and life lessons when staring in the face of Alzheimer's disease. For months, possibly years, she was wrapped in its cloak, unable to break free. But when I think of the old days -- the days growing up around my grandparents' house, surrounded by family members and love and support and laughter -- all the memories of my true grandmother come out. And so does her legacy. Her legacy of love, of generosity, of support when her family needed it the most -- be it a bump on my knee or the death of a relative. The way she raised her children and urged her grandchildren to live good lives, to cherish God the way she did. The way she loved us all in the best way she knew how, demonstrating her affection in spontaneous pats on the knee or the tender clasping of a hand.
She once sent me a thank-you note for setting the table for a Thanksgiving dinner. She'd let me, at four years old, wrap her arms and legs up in Ace bandages and rub hand lotion on her fingers to enhance my medical expertise. Would break the silence in a car ride by saying, "I like you" -- which meant so much more than "love" to me. We didn't just love each other -- we liked each other, too.
And she was full of fun. Once, she hopped on my cousin's new BMX bike and took it for a spin around the block. My father says she taught all three of her children how to stand on their heads -- by demonstrating herself. :) She cooed over grandchildren and played with us all the time. And for years, there was always a fresh pound cake on the table when I came in to the house. After dinner, her favorite expression was "Now, I could use a little something sweet." Pound cake, butter cookies, peppermint sticks, and the like were in abundant supply at Mom's. :)
So yes, I've been thinking of her a lot this week. But it hasn't been sad. Rather, I've been reminscing a lot, remembering the good times that were pushed to the corner of my mind while she was sick. I've been doing a lot of smiling, thinking back on all of her adventures and all the wonderful time we spent together.
I miss her. I love her. And I'll keep on thinking about her. It eases the finality somehow.
And even in her absence, her presence lingers. She continues to teach me, to push me, to encourage me to make the most of the life I have. And, as she would say, "That is wonderful."
It's been a good week. Class is going well -- my students are really good at the whole discussion thing, which makes me very happy. After all, who wants to lecture the whole time (or sit in a desk and WATCH someone lecture for 50 minutes)? So the fact that they're willing to speak up about suburbanization, television, current events, and the like has made me very happy. We'll see what they do with the Lost Generation on Monday...
I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother this week. Thoughts of her manifest themselves in many unexpected ways and places. For instance, I was on my way to the water fountain at work the other day when it hit me -- she wasn't here anymore. I mean, I already knew that, have known that since the end of July. But, now that a month has passed, the reality is beginning to set in. I don't want to ever forget her sayings, her phrases that were uniquely Mary Alyce's: "Oh, boy!" "Well, I'll be John Brown." "Oh, foot." "Well, that is wonderful."
That last one was always my favorite when it was directed at me. :) See, if you told her something that was good news, and she knew it HAD to be good news but wasn't quite sure what it meant, she would say supportively, "Oh, boy!" But if you explained the significance of the event, of the milestone, a little clearer, she would pause and respond, "Well, that is wonderful, (name of child/grandchild/other relative/friend)." Then, you see, you knew she understood.
So, naturally, I always loved to hear that phrase with my name attached to the end of it. But she didn't say "Hope." No, ma'am. Her thick Dothan accent, mixed with a little North Florida charm, made my name come out less like "Hope" and more like "Hawpe." And when I think of those unique inflections, those turns of phrase that were inseparably intertwined in her vocabulary, it hits me. What I would give to hear them again. Just once, even.
But if I think about it, REALLY think about it, I realize she hasn't really gone, at least not too far. Her legacy and lessons live on in her physical absence and give me a closeness that comforts me.
It's easy to forget about legacies and life lessons when staring in the face of Alzheimer's disease. For months, possibly years, she was wrapped in its cloak, unable to break free. But when I think of the old days -- the days growing up around my grandparents' house, surrounded by family members and love and support and laughter -- all the memories of my true grandmother come out. And so does her legacy. Her legacy of love, of generosity, of support when her family needed it the most -- be it a bump on my knee or the death of a relative. The way she raised her children and urged her grandchildren to live good lives, to cherish God the way she did. The way she loved us all in the best way she knew how, demonstrating her affection in spontaneous pats on the knee or the tender clasping of a hand.
She once sent me a thank-you note for setting the table for a Thanksgiving dinner. She'd let me, at four years old, wrap her arms and legs up in Ace bandages and rub hand lotion on her fingers to enhance my medical expertise. Would break the silence in a car ride by saying, "I like you" -- which meant so much more than "love" to me. We didn't just love each other -- we liked each other, too.
And she was full of fun. Once, she hopped on my cousin's new BMX bike and took it for a spin around the block. My father says she taught all three of her children how to stand on their heads -- by demonstrating herself. :) She cooed over grandchildren and played with us all the time. And for years, there was always a fresh pound cake on the table when I came in to the house. After dinner, her favorite expression was "Now, I could use a little something sweet." Pound cake, butter cookies, peppermint sticks, and the like were in abundant supply at Mom's. :)
So yes, I've been thinking of her a lot this week. But it hasn't been sad. Rather, I've been reminscing a lot, remembering the good times that were pushed to the corner of my mind while she was sick. I've been doing a lot of smiling, thinking back on all of her adventures and all the wonderful time we spent together.
I miss her. I love her. And I'll keep on thinking about her. It eases the finality somehow.
And even in her absence, her presence lingers. She continues to teach me, to push me, to encourage me to make the most of the life I have. And, as she would say, "That is wonderful."
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