The death of the Matriarch.

Laurel
Laurel
Aug 9, 2017 · 4 min read

Piecing your life together after grief is like trying to complete a puzzle without all the pieces. You know what it’s supposed to look like, but there is no way to recreate that image. You want to borrow from other boxes to make it work. Leave no blank space. Fill it with anything but the empty hole.

Grandmother’s are special. For many, they are there for our mother’s and father’s while they anxiously await our arrival. They dole out advice, care and love for our parents and the new life they created. They treasure their children and grandchildren. Some are lucky enough to even meet Great Grandchildren.

For me, my grandmother was so much more than just a grandmother. Until I realized she was leaving us, I had never really stopped to consider how strongly she had influenced who I am. Multifaceted.

Mimi was love.

She taught me how to play piano.

She taught me how to do manicures.

She taught me how to lovingly care for my grandfather after a stroke made him nearly immobile. She cared for him until his death.

She taught me how to cook. Not just basic things, but meals that would bring people to the table. Meals that would build memories.

She taught me how to clean.

She taught me how to experience life as an adventure.

She taught me my love for travel.

She taught me how to sew.

She taught me how to delegate elegantly.

She taught me her family recipes.

She taught me her family history.

She taught me that even though your children will do things you may not agree with, you love them. Unconditionally.

That was true for her grandchildren too.

She taught me that food and hospitality go a long way.

Kindness is not forgotten.


For thousands of people, they’ll remember Mimi for her amazing fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cakes, and plenty of other amazing foods. They’ll remember her Southern Hospitality.

It wasn’t just Southern Hospitality though, by knowing her family history you’d know that her family helped provide for a devastated community during the Great Depression.

Their farm fed themselves and others. Her mother sewed clothing for not only her children, but children in the community. If your neighbor needed something and you could help, it was a given. Nothing to be expected in the return. They believed in the village that no longer exists in this society. Mimi never got that memo. She was a giver and provider till the end.


I’ll remember her as my substitute mother. Caring for me and teaching me how to to be a good human. Developing the skills necessary to provide for myself and a family someday.

As my own mother was extremely mentally and physically ill growing up. Mimi was grandmother and mother. She kept us fed, clothed, educated. She kept us safe.

A perfect example of her love was when I turned 18. I wanted a piercing and chose to get my lip pierced. My family was enraged. My mom threatened to kick me out of the house. My dad was not far behind. They didn’t, but they withheld all love from me. Two days after I had turned 18, gotten my lip pierced, I was preparing for school and she greeted me. I was hiding it from her, covering it with my hand.

Without missing a beat she pointed to my covered lip, “Let me see that.”

I hesitantly removed my hand from my face revealing the lip ring.

“Well, I don’t love it…. But I love you.

She hugged me, and that was it.


Mimi was my father’s mother. But she ended up being my mother’s mother as well. She cared for my mom through the years until the end of her life. She took her to doctors appointments, visited in the hospital, tried to navigate the world with her when no one else would. Mimi supported my mom until the very end, despite the pain she had caused. When my mom passed we knew it was one of her last mental anchors to this time. It was, dementia crept in quickly. Claiming her memories. Claiming her life.

The decline was quick after my mom died. Almost as if she was sticking around to make sure no further damage could be done to our family.

She prayed for my dad to meet someone who would love him and care for him. She saw that woman come into our lives. My dad found love, got remarried, and the decline continued to go downhill.

She watched two of her three grandchildren marry, have babies. She lived to meet two great grandchildren. She loved them with the same unconditional love she gave to us. Boy, did they ever love her in return.

Her last attachment to this realm was her kitties. A 14 year old pair of barn cats we rescued in my late teen years. They became her babies, she loved and cared for them with the same gentle care she gave her human children for many years.

I promised her that her kitties would be cared for. Our family took them in, and I can see her love evident in both of them. I cried when they came to live with us, because I knew that meant she was no longer present enough to care for them. Their kisses will now be hers.

It was only two months after their arrival at our home, that she was called home.

Two months ago I asked her to fight to live, and 7 days ago I held her hand and told her it was ok for her to go. I’d never be ready to lose her, but I’m as prepared as she could have made me to navigate this life without her. I’ll find a way to put his puzzle back together, now carrying her torch.


Mimi, thank you.

Laurel

Written by

Laurel

Wife. Mom. Entrepreneur. Artist. Chronic Illness. Trying to find purpose and joy again.

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