Sunshine

This was originally written-- several years ago in a moment of determination when I decided that despite all speech phobias I would speak at my Grandmama's funeral-- to be read to a group of family, friends, and people I'm sure I've met but whose I just caaaan't quite place no matter how hard I try. Unfortunately, I didn't get to speak as planned. But I did print this out and pass out copies to those who knew her best, and tonight I am really missing her and have decided to share, along with a few photos. My heart hurts, and I'm hoping that sharing this-- baring a piece of my soul here, people-- and showcasing what a wonderful woman she was will help me heal just a little. Without further ado, here goes: We're all here for the same reason: To celebrate the life of a phenomenal woman, Miss V.W.P. I'm not really much for public speaking, so bear with me, here. For those of you who don't know me, my name is DeAnna. V is my great-grandmama and I can assure you that she was, in fact, a GREAT Grandmama. She stood a whopping 4'10 1/2" tall but she had a big personality and a tremendous heart. She'd tell you herself when we would joke about her height, "The best things come in the smallest packages. Diamonds and dynamite." Grandmama P was certainly no exception to this rule. She loved in a big way for such a little body-- She had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, and the center of her world-- which my family & I were lucky enough to be. I knew if I ever needed anything, I could count on her to come through for me. She was always dependable and I, like everyone who experienced her devotion, loved her for it. In fact, any time I was with her (and probably when I wasn't, now that I think of it) and she ran into someone she knew (and even some she didn't) there was one story I could ALWAYS depend on her to tell. She would grab my hand, pull me close in, and with the biggest smile she would say, "This is my Dee Dee. I practically raised her from the time she was 6 months old until she started kindergarten while her Mama worked. She's my baby girl." That part was set in stone-- a part of a script she'd long ago memorized and undoubtedly knew by heart. She would go on for a few minutes, praising whatever my latest accomplishment might have been; Learning to read, tying my shoes. She would brag the way all Grandmas seem to be so good at-- and I absolutely ate it up as a kid. But the older I got, in true teenage form, it started to embarrass me. I'd shrug off her words and roll my eyes, thinking how silly it was that she still talked about me like that when I was practically an adult. When you're 13, you think you know everything. As you grow older still, you realize how wrong you were. If I only I had been able to know then that a vicious, ruthless disease was creeping in silently and attacking her memory, I would have cherished that story. Had I only known that the Grandmama that I knew & loved was slipping away little by little, in such small increments it wasn't visible to me. I didn't even know what Alzheimers was at the time. I didn't know that in a few years she would forget my name and who I was, and that in time, I would be the only one to recall "our" special memories. If I had been able to predict what was coming, I would have let her brag on me all day long and I would have never rolled my eyes. I didn't know. I watched her slip away from us mentally and saw how it affected my family. I wouldn't wish the hurt of 'losing' a loved one to Alzheimers on my worst enemy. Saying a slow goodbye to my Grandmama, who was and always will be one my favorite people on the face of this planet, was undeniably the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But in the days since her passing I have found solace in the fact that while, yes, we have lost a huge piece of our family-- we wouldn't be a family without her. And we were so blessed to have her. You only get so many people in your life that truly think the world of you, and Grandmama was one of mine. Lucky me. In all the days, months, years that I grew to know Mrs. V. W. W. P., she taught me a lot of lessons: Toasted cheese sandwiches are better with butter. Everyone deserves a chance. A positive attitude and a smile can go a long way. Never stick your head out a car window, because someone might roll it up. (Learned that one the hard way.) But the greatest one she taught me was pretty simple: We all deserve to be bragged on once in a while. So, with that being said-- This is my Great-Grandmama.

She practically raised me from the time I was six months old until I started kindergarten, while my Mama worked. I was her baby; I was her Dee Dee. Some of my favorite memories have taken place at her house-- she taught me to shuck corn, and play Amazing Grace on the piano. She called me every year on my birthday to sing to me, in the sweetest out-of-tune voice you'd ever heard. Her scrambled eggs were a culinary masterpiece, and her laugh was contagious. She was always there to console me, even when I outgrew her lap and I had to bend over just to hug her. She was the epitome of grace, charm, and all things southern.

It was Grandmama who always seemed to sing the loudest at birthdays, ending with "-- years you've traveled through, Happy Birthday, God Bless You!" At my 25th birthday dinner, a few weeks before she passed, my family sang to me and in my head without even thinking I mentally tacked on the ending in her voice. That's one of things I think I will miss the most about her. She was my very first best friend, filling mine and my sister's earlier days with trips to the library, sing-alongs, and lots of pizza. I remember walking hand-in-hand with her along the Loop Road, making up our own words to songs and stopping to talk to neighbors. I was always able to convince she and Grandaddy to buy me a soda out of the machine at the Garden Center. She was self-less, devoted, and thoughtful-- always putting other's needs before her own. Her willingness to help seemed endless to my young eyes. She loved big, and we all knew her greatest love of all was Grandaddy. They were married for over 60 years when my Grandaddy passed away in 2007. They set an extraordinary example of what love, and marriage, really is-- being yourselves, loving one another with everything you've got, and persevering. She showed me from their relationship that I deserved a great love just like hers. I knew from a very young age that I wanted a "Darlin'" of my own, because I saw just how happy they made each other. She is undoubtedly a large reason why I am who I am today. Now that I am grown and watch my youngest niece two days a week, I have a new perspective our time together. I am so grateful for the time she spent with me; I am so glad she helped me learn to read and encouraged me to explore the world of books. I am thrilled that she picked me to go strawberry-picking with, and that she always let me indulge just a bit more than Mom and Dad would have in that pile of sweet, juicy fruit. I will always smile when I recall when we would ride to town and Grandaddy would tease me about the whole dollar I had was burning a hole in my pocket-- he and Grandma holding hands every so often across the front seat or exchanging a sweet glance when they thought I wasn't looking. It was Grandmama who always let me stay up late in the kitchen watching Nick at Nite, and it was Grandmama who had a HUGE roll of white paper in the back bedroom and let me have my way with it. She treated every Crayola and ink pen explosion like a work of art and made me feel like I could conquer the world. On one of my last visits before she took a true turn for the worse, she sang with me. It was a fleeting thing, for all of 30 seconds, as I sat beside her and sang "Let me call you Sweetheart" for the 3rd or 4th time-- She closed her eyes and hummed, tune-less and out-of-tempo and it was beautiful. I tried to get her to do it again to record it, but just as soon as it had come, it was gone again. It was enough to let me know that she was in there somewhere, even if she didn't know my name and couldn't find the words to tell me what was on her mind. When I went to leave I kissed her cheek and told her I loved her, and that I know she loves me, too. We all know that she loves us. Grandmama made sure of it, and I am so thankful for that last glimpse of my Grandmama's spirit peeking through the veil of confusion. One other thing my Grandmama did for me was instill in me a love of poetry, so in closing I'd like to leave you with a powerful stanza from an Emily Dickinson poem that strikes a chord with me: "Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality." Grandmama P has been immortalized in all of our hearts, and as long as she is there-- she's not gone. She's simply out of sight.

Moonpie Girl

I babysit my niece one day a week and cherish those days immeasurably. She has grown up with "Dee Dee's" camera in her face so she is never too pleased when I break it out. But, every so often I can convince her to give me a few snaps before it's time to go back to the sidewalk chalk. These are just a few from our last little "shoot".

And this last one is just so damn sweet, I have to share. She and my rescue pup, Paisley, share a special bond.

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