Missing Grandma - #BHM Homage
Many times we believe that the only way to receive the gospel is in the pews with an eloquent preacher who spits out truths to live by on Sunday morning or others who utilize social media to reach a modern audience with teachings and spiritual rhetoric. Others use the bully pulpit of television to evangelize a congregation of millions. But I want to this month pay homage to my grandmother. She was not a grandiose preacher, evangelist, missionary in the traditional sense. But she did leave an indelible impression upon me as to what a Christian woman of grace, faith and strength should emanate. Please allow me to reminisce this Black History Month on the memory of my Grandmother, Lillian Campbell Williams. A woman who didn't make it to the history books, nor does she have a cornerstone embedded with her name on a new sanctuary structure. She may have been forgotten by many. But not to me.
My grandmother died in 1997 and I still feel her loss. I often ask the questions today, "How proud would she be of me that I earned my Master's Degree? How would she feel that I am a minister of the gospel? How would she feel that I migrated back to our roots, North Carolina?"
I think I missed her most on my wedding day. She would have been so happy. I wanted to make her happy because she meant so much to me. But I'm also glad that her pain has ended. I sometimes reflect on the way she died. She had pancreatic cancer (I hope they find a cure soon) and it was painful for her. Why would God allow this god-fearing woman to suffer so much pain in her final days. To see her in pain brought me pain. It just didn't seem fair. Her pain seemed long and drawn out. She was a strong woman before her sickness, a woman of grace and hospitality, a giver, a caretaker, a survivor. She lived life on her own terms. What's profound is that even toward the end, she wouldn't even allow the nursing aid to come in the house. She would tell her "go away" and even my mother (her daughter) couldn't convince her to open the door She would say, "I don't need her..tell her to go away."
Even when she was in hospice the only person she would allow to touch her hair was me. On the last time I saw her, she asked me to do her hair and I did, knowing that it would be the last time. I cried inside. I didn't want her to go. But I knew that she had to go. I wanted her pain to end.
At her funeral, I was asked to sing. I didn't feel like singing. I didn't feel like doing anything. But because my mother really wanted me to, I did. I sang Amazing Grace. Today, I'm glad I did sing for my grandmother one final time. Even writing about this today brings up feelings of loss. Wishing she could be here today so I could help take care of her in her golden years and take her places, run errands for her, but it was not to be.
Now all I have is memories, mostly good. I've forgotten any bad. Now I leaf through photo albums that bring back floods of memories and I am instantly taken back to the time when the photos were taken. Even the pictures taken before my time. She was a beautiful woman with long dark soft country hair--never relaxed, colored or processed--just wavy. She only pressed it long down her back on special occasions. She loved to wear her fur coat on Sunday when folks used to dress up for church. I sometimes like to wear a fur stole and I am instantly reminded of her. She had Sunday go to meeting clothes that were reserved for wearing only on the Lord's day. We don't do that anymore.
On Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mother's Day, Resurrection Sunday or anytime we came to visit, she always hosted dinner. She was always a gracious hostess. We would invite her over for dinners, but she always insisted that we come over her house and she would fix dinner. She loved cooking for us. It was how she showed she loved and cared for us. So off we would go to Harlem and climb the six-floor walk up (of course she lived on the top floor) to spend time and eat eat eat... Those were good times. I think she was so strong in part because she used to climb those stairs everyday. I think I would pass out :) The menu was always scrumptious: macaroni and cheese, collard greens, turkey and dressing, oxtails (back when they were cheap--only poor folks ate them), fried chicken and always a cake made from scratch--pineapple upside down cake.
I don't remember all that we talked about. But I remember the feeling of a warm, loving environment--grandma's house. There's nothing like it. Sometimes it was just us immediate family and other times extended family would visit--cousins, uncles, aunts and always a relative that I didn't know was a relative. My grandmother would say, "Katherine this is your aunt, uncle or cousin so and so." Good times.
But at the time of her death, I had mixed feelings. I remember helping my mother with the funeral arrangements. It was important to me to be a part of the process--to make sure she was taken care of the way she had taken care of us and so many through the years. I don't remember having inconsolable grief, only a sense of deep loss. I felt most sad when she was in the hospice. I think I possibly grieved at that time because I knew her passing was imminent because I knew she was in so much pain. My feeling was "Lord let her go to eternal sleep in peace so the pain can stop." I didn't want her pain to linger any more.
Now I miss her greatly. But I also often smile because of all the great memories I have of her and I see so much of her in me. She made a huge impact on me. By her actions, by her life, she showed me how to be a woman of faith, grace, and strength and hopefully, I make her proud and pass that on to my daughter and to my daughter's daughter. So although my grandmother didn't make the history books, she left a legacy that is worth being remembered.
I love you, grandma. May I always make you proud.
Lillian Campbell Williams 1915-97
