(Mammy, Christmas 2004)November 30th, 1905
September 26th, 2009
My Mammy would have turned 104 this November. Somehow she never seemed that old to me. Of course, the age itself is impressive, as well as the stories of her scaling her roof in her eighties because someone needed to nail down the shingles, or hopping across furniture in her nineties to liven up the dinning room with a new border. Having lived through so much in her life, I think she felt it silly to let life live without her just because of age.
I suppose some people are in your life so naturally that they are simply a part of existence, and it is a shock when you realize they too are affected by time.
She taught me to sew, and my baby dolls had never been so well adorned as they were after a weekend with my Mammy. She let me eat an entire package of spaghetti for dinner, and candy orange slices for breakfast. She taught me to play Skipbo and to crotchet. She let me cuddle in bed with her at night after already staying up late to cuddle on the couch.
As an adult I look back on my memories and realize I may not have known much about the woman who was my Mammy, not in the way that an adult knows another adult. I knew my Mammy as a child knows someone whom they've always known, someone who has always loved them and who has always desired their love in return; and by that consistency, that love, that someone is unequivocally confirmed as good, loving and in a way, holy.
After witnessing my Mammy suffer greatly, both physically and emotionally during the final years of her life, I, as an adult, have come to recognize my Mammy in her suffering. In our final conversation, when her sentences were broken by stifled moans of pain and she rocked gently attempting to endure it, she had still not lost her hope in our Lord: she still faithfully questioned why He had not come for her yet, fully aware that her suffering was only greater affirmation of His presence, not of her abandonment. She seemed to understand, or at least to accept, that her suffering was willed by a loving Father and in it was an opportunity for great redemption.
As I think about my Mammy, I realize that she, in a way beyond childhood impressions, truly was good, loving and holy.
I suppose some people are in your life so naturally that they are simply a part of existence, and it is a shock when you realize they too are affected by time.
She taught me to sew, and my baby dolls had never been so well adorned as they were after a weekend with my Mammy. She let me eat an entire package of spaghetti for dinner, and candy orange slices for breakfast. She taught me to play Skipbo and to crotchet. She let me cuddle in bed with her at night after already staying up late to cuddle on the couch.
As an adult I look back on my memories and realize I may not have known much about the woman who was my Mammy, not in the way that an adult knows another adult. I knew my Mammy as a child knows someone whom they've always known, someone who has always loved them and who has always desired their love in return; and by that consistency, that love, that someone is unequivocally confirmed as good, loving and in a way, holy.
After witnessing my Mammy suffer greatly, both physically and emotionally during the final years of her life, I, as an adult, have come to recognize my Mammy in her suffering. In our final conversation, when her sentences were broken by stifled moans of pain and she rocked gently attempting to endure it, she had still not lost her hope in our Lord: she still faithfully questioned why He had not come for her yet, fully aware that her suffering was only greater affirmation of His presence, not of her abandonment. She seemed to understand, or at least to accept, that her suffering was willed by a loving Father and in it was an opportunity for great redemption.
As I think about my Mammy, I realize that she, in a way beyond childhood impressions, truly was good, loving and holy.
4 comments:
Dear Jen,
the only time you and I were both little girls was in our relationship with Mammy.
At 51 years of age, I still felt like a little girl with her. We are so blessed by her.
I am so glad she had you in her life.
Love you, Mom
You are always able to put words to my emotions. Thank you for posting this! Mammy was truly remarkable!
You do have a way with words, and like Jules I find my emotions explained here. Thank you for the eloquent tribute to Mammy and giving those who never knew her a glimpse at why we loved her so much!
The first time I met your Mammy was when she went with Kim and me to Plainview for the one act play that you and Jeremiah were in. From that day and the other days I was able to spend time with her, I became quite an admirer of hers. She was an absolutely amazing, loving woman. I will miss her.
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