Mamaw

My grandmother had open heart surgery two weeks ago, and has been recovering "well" for an 88 year old woman. Last night, my sister called to let me know that Mamaw had taken a turn for the worse. Her bypasses were failing, they'd performed an emergency stint, and the doctors were pessimistic. She's frightened. She's hurting. She's 800 miles away.

I'm so grateful I got to see her on Christmas Day, and then again on the Saturday afterwards at her house. She was more frail than I remembered, and hindsight being what it is, certainly feeling the effects of multiple coronary blockages. But I know it brought her joy to have all the grandchildren, and great-grandchildren gathered together.

Mamaw lived less than an hour from me when I was a child, and was the grandmother I got to visit every month. I spent lots of time with Mamaw and Papaw, and even worked for them in their grocery store long before I could have worked anywhere else. My fondest memories of that summer include hoop cheese and saltines, and learning that vanilla extract is bought by alcoholics in a dry county.

My Mamaw was a strong young woman, opinionated, proud, capable, and active. She's the world's greatest cook--her biscuits are divine--and I take credit for encouraging her to resume quilting in her last 25 years of life. (Her first quilt in years was the one she made for my wedding gift, upon my request.) This afternoon, the girls and I were talking about Mamaw's upcoming birthday in March, and had discussed making her a quilt...we figured no one makes a quiltmaker a quilt. I don't think we'll get that chance.

I love you, Mamaw.