She was sweet and sassy and full of wit. Her life's dream was to make it to 100. Unfortunately, she left us short of that milestone. And still, she lived on her own terms. Our grandmother was fierce and doggedly independent until her last day on earth.
Our grandmother, Lois, would have been 94 today.
We mourn her loss, deeply. We celebrate her abundant life always. We will carry memories and lessons in our hearts and pass them on so generations, yet unknown, benefit from the wisdom she carried forward from those we never knew.
She was small in stature. And she was mighty. While she sometimes chose to bite her tongue, she also reminded us of the importance of self expression -- regardless of how it may be received. At times, she could be fierce. When she put her hands on her hips, she was going to let you have a piece of her mind clearly, slowly, and matter of factly.
She spoke her truth and modeled a way that empowered us to speak up for ourselves and others, even at an early age. "No one should disrespect you, regardless of their age," and "A closed mouth doesn't get fed."
As a little girl I remember my grandma always encouraging me to ask for what I wanted. She would ask me where I wanted to eat. I may reply, "It doesn't matter," to which she'd quip, "I don't know a place called 'It Doesn't Matter' . . . . Figure out where you want to go." Once I named a specific place, we were on our way, and I could get whatever I wanted! We loved a little French bakery downtown on Jefferson Street called Napolean's. It's, now, long gone.
These things that seem so small became a guiding principle of sort. No need to wander aimlessly. Make a plan; chart your course. Be specific about what you want, and go get it. My brother and cousins, my parents, aunts, and uncles, my friends, my nephew and nieces -- they all revered her, and they absorbed her words. We each have our own lived experiences of how we benefited from lessons my grandma shared. We also all benefited from her kind words and her quiet deeds.
My grandmother really was kind lady. She always looked out for others. In her 80s, she would jump off the phone to go "deliver meals to old folks." Other times she needed to "go take care of some church business." She was chair of the sunshine club. This was fitting because she had a bright disposition and was filled by pouring into others.
"Do unto others quietly, not with pomp and circumstance, but with thought and intention, expecting nothing in return." She showed us the way over and over again. She found joy in being generous. She remembered birthdays, anniversaries, and other special occasions. She always found a way to ensure others knew she was thinking of them. She would write small checks. I wouldn't cash them. So she would fold up cash to put in my hand. Her generosity towards others, at times, meant she may go without something she wanted herself. She was selfless.
When I was a child, it seemed like my grandma was always going to the card store or spending so much time on the card aisle in the grocery store. She kept a full stock at home and probably could've opened up her own card shop. She was always prepared with a card in hand to drop in the mail. Several people shared they'd received cards from her even after she'd passed because she'd placed them in the mail that week. This includes my brother whose birthday, sadly, was the day after our grandmother passed away. We will never forget March 29.
My grandmother had a zest for life. I called her "spicy." To be clear, however, she didn't have an easy life. Despite wounds to her heart, she somehow lived with carefree ease. It was as if she floated on a cloud. When she walked into a room, people noticed. Faces lit up.
Earlier this year, I had the honor of taking her to the doctor. She didn't want to go with anyone but me on this particular day. I closed my computer, put my out of office notice up, and let everyone know that I'd be away for a few hours. When I got to her house, she'd changed her mind. Arms folded, lips pursed, head and finger shaking, she said, "I'm not going anywhere." As further proof, she wasn't dressed to go out and didn't have on lipstick. I replied, with a little sterness and nervous laughter, "Grandma, yes we ARE going to the doctor. I rushed over here, and we're almost out of time! Let's go!" While she didn't typically do anything she didn't want to do, I think grandmothers and granddaughters operate on a different wavelength, and so she stood up, and we went out hand in hand.
That day, she uncharacteristically left the house adorned with a caftan, a head turban, and a cane. While not meticulously dressed per usual, her caftan had sparkles and her cane had rhinestones. As she sashayed into the medical center, it was as if trumpets were sounding. Everyone who passed her stopped and complemented her. She threw back her head with a laugh or smile with every word of admiration. I was in awe. I'm still in awe of her. When the nurse came in, my grandma did a dance and told her, "Honey, I'm fine!" And she was.
I loved dancing with my grandmother. I loved playing in her hair. I enjoyed listening to her funny stories. I loved asking her to reenact scenes. She was comical and fun to be around. She was a bright spot in a world that's often dank. She was love.
When she left earth, she took a piece of me with her. She took a piece of all of us. She, however, made deposits into our lives, so she also left a piece of herself with all of us. I cherish every memory and every moment we ever shared. I want to hold on to them and wish I could've held onto her. I will honor her life forever. I will speak her name and tell stories about her. I will choose to live with joy, just like she did.
The morning of my wedding, I got dressed in the Lois Room at Celestine Bed and Breakfast. I peeked through the windows with excitement as guests arrived. It felt so special to be in a place specifically designed to honor and embody my grandmother. When I designed this room, my goal was to ensure it was charming and elegant, yet approachable, with a unique flair. I wanted the room to have an intangible quality that creates a feeling of warmth. The room has a special air of brightness -- the same brightness that was reflected on my grandma's face the first time she saw it; the same brightness she brought to me and to so many others. This brightness persists even as she is no longer present.
I also sat in the Lois room the day she was funeralized. I, again, peeked through the windows as family members and friends arrived at the Celestine, our pre-service meeting point. I asked my young nieces to sit with me. I'm not sure they know it, but their presence always gives me an extra dose of comfort. We sat in silence with each other and our heavy hearts. I thought deeply about my grandmother's legacy and how it would be an honor to be a fraction of the woman that she was. I was also thankful my nieces and nephew got to really know their great grandmother just like I did. They will continue to revere her and honor her. They will pay her love forward.
It is in this vain that I move forward. My grandmother is now a guiding light. She always ways. Her little lessons, her sweet words, her 'look-you-in-the-face and let you know what she's thinking' moments, her generosity, her love for others, her wit, her smarts, her optimism. . . I miss her.
She was my last living grandparent.
My hope is if you still have a grandparent, you intentionally cherish every moment with them. If you don't, take time to cherish every memory you ever had with them. Reflect on them and think about how you might show up in this world. Who might you be a light for? On this day and always, I'm grateful.
Happy birthday.
Love,
Cornelia
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