Monday, March 21, 2016


 I remember when I was little, your house was my favorite place to be. I was your cherished granddaughter. As I grew, we were so close that Pawpaw called me your third daughter. Mom, you and I went everywhere together. We shared a rare three generational closeness that many don't have the luxury of experiencing. A bond my daughter will never know. 

One of
my oldest memories is of you and Pawpaw returning from a motorcycle trip and bringing me a blow up chair and my favorite teddy bear in all the world, Jellybean. Who now belongs to my daughter.

I remember waking up to the smell of Gunnoe's sausage and biscuits on the mornings after nights spent at your house. 

I remember you teaching me how to make your peculiar pineapple, lettuce, cheddar cheese and miracle whip salads to accompany your homemade spaghetti. I was so excited when you taught me how to make them, and you made me feel so trustworthy when the salads were entrusted to my hands. You told me they were perfect, even though they were
Not as pretty as yours.

You always made me feel beautiful, and so loved. You showed me an excellent example of a hard working, godly woman, who cherished her God and family
before all else.
You showed me how to be a tireless worker bee as well as a leader. You were always there at all of my youth group functions, serving as an advisor and in the kitchen. You worked tirelessly for me and all of the girls. 

I remember you in the audience at each and every band concert, dance recital, and rainbow meeting, always cheering me on.

I remember calling you while I was in college and asking you for your hot dog chili recipe, and learning that the mainingredient  was love. 

I remember writing an essay in the seventh grade about my hero. It was about you. You were so proud of that essay!

I remember being at the hospital with you and the family when Pawpaw died, and the hours spent caring for him in the years and days before his hospitalization and eventual death. 

I remember in the days after his passing, writing out all the thank you cards for you to all the lovely people who provided cards, gifts and food after he passed. I remember the discussion about how you felt that it was not appropriate to wear your wedding rings anymore because you were not married and didn't feel that it was right.

I remember serving in the women's social service organization with you and mom, dad and grandpa, it was a family
affair. I cannot stomach the thought of going back with out you all there. Only Dad and I are left.

I remember the pictures in my baby book of you holding me for the first time, and of you holding my daughter for the first time. 

I remember you and mom babysitting and helping to raise my daughter for the first few years of her life.

I remember the way you smell. I could never forget.

I remember the way that your arms felt around me. I remember the way you always kissed me on the lips, and how dainty your lips always seemed to me.

I remember the way you always tucked
Me in at night when I spent
The night at your house.

I remember that you were the only other person in the world who felt my mother's death as deeply as I did. One of our three had died. I miss being able to talk to you about her.

I miss the last person on earth that could tell me stories of my life. And of my mother's.

I miss the times that you would visit, after you moved in out of state with your youngest daughter. I miss our days spent shopping, having slumber parties, girl time, playing babies, picking up my daughter from school, and lunching with all of your girlfriends.

I miss being able
to call you on the phone. I miss phone calls on my birthday. I miss being able to cry to you about losing my mother. I miss the last direct link to my maternal lineage.  I miss your laughter, and your silliness. I miss your green eyes. 

I look down at my finger everyday and I miss the hand that your wedding and anniversary rings belong on. 

I miss holding hands while walking through the mall with you until just a couple of years ago.

I miss your never ending smile, your eternal happiness, and the way your eyes would light up when I entered a room. 

I miss seeing the joy on your face that my daughter brought you. The last baby that you helped raise.

I miss and love you Nana!