Dimples and Roses

Memaw was one of the prettiest people I've ever known. She was always coordinated, bejeweled and smelling of roses. As a little girl I was enamored by her pretty jewelry and bright red fingernails. I have countless memories that will creep up as little reminders that she walked this earth,

Like most families, the Honea clan has our own way of putting things. The instant we arrive at home from being out and about, we will immediately put on "soft clothes." It's important to be aware, all jammies are soft clothes, but not all soft clothes have to be jammies. We always referred to my grandparent's house in Lake Jackson, TX as "the house on the court".  The grandfather clock in the hall would sing a piece of "Ex. 6. Westminster Quarters, 1794" every quarter hour and on the hour dong the appropriate number of times. The deeper you walked down the hall the more your olfactory senses would alert you to the existence of lots of things that have been undisturbed for decades. Not like some grandparent homes of dust and mothballs. Just a subtle stillness of time and large closets. Every square inch of every wall in that hallway was filled with framed photos of our very own family history. My favorite time to remember in that house is the six weeks I stayed my fourteenth summer. All the adults in my life thought I might get bored, be ready to come home. But I loved it. I loved how my Grandad went to bed early and Memaw and I would talk for hours about everything and nothing. I loved how Grandad would go to the store every morning to replenish any of my favorite food items I had consumed.  Memaw took me shopping and bought me REAL Keds, with the little blue rectangle on the sole of the heel. They were red. I lived life alongside them, visiting my great grandmother twice a week, watching Memaw's "stories" in the afternoon (Days of Our Lives specifically). I'd sing in the choir at rehearsal on Wednesday nights and put on an assigned robe to sing in church on Sunday mornings. I sat in the soprano section with Memaw while Grandad sang two rows back with the Baritones. I was there long enough to be enveloped into their habitual patterns and they were proud.

Memaw loved the tiny specifics that would make memories special. On my wedding day she wanted to be the last person to call me Miss Honea and the first to call me Mrs. Jones. I can still see her after the ceremony racing across the reception hall to be the first to reach me. It was important to Memaw that she be able to see in her mind's eye where I was housed. That way when we talked she had some specifics to build on as she imagined me living life. She visited every place we have lived from college days at Masters to our current home in GA. After Grandad died these trips were taken alone. Due to macular degeneration she was completely dependent on the strangers around her. I will forever be grateful for her brave determination that allowed these trips to happen. One time she was visiting and my kids got the swine flu. I called my aunt in a panic convinced she would get it and croak. Ann told me, "she would think it was worth the trip." Another night on one of these visits, Memaw and I split a bottle of muscadine wine. We giggled until wee hours, swapping stories and laughing at life. She would stay a few weeks, long enough to live my habitual patterns, and I was proud.

I visited her a few times in the assisted living apartment where, quite frankly, I fit in a little too well.  I loved these visits, slowly walking the halls, stopping so she could introduce me to her friends, gushing with unmistakable pride that her adult granddaughter enjoyed her company enough to come sleep with the old people. She was always cold so her apartment felt like a furnace. I would sit in shorts and a t-shirt, she sat in her sweater with a lap blanket. We never agreed about a comfortable temp but we always agreed on our nightly activity. We would visit. She'd share stories from long ago, some I had heard and forgotten, others were like a family mantra and my lips would move along with hers silently mirroring her words. One visit she had me breakout her letters to and from my Grandad during the Korean War. Memaw could no longer read them due to failing eyesight. So I squirreled them away in every nook and cranny of my suitcase, flew them home, organized them in binders, and started to record each letter. I would email the recordings to my very sweet Uncle Rich who would laboriously download the recordings onto Memaw's phone. She could then listen and remember that for most of her life, she had been completely adored by Charles Raymon Honea.

These moments and so many more will be carried in my heart forever. I have her dimples, high cheekbones, and love of good whit. I also have her heartburn, bad knees and protruding chin. It's a fair trade. She was my Memaw. She was my friend. I will never cease to miss having her in my life, thinking the world of me. Being proud just to call me hers. I am thankful for the comfort we have in our sweet Savior's redemptive power and promise of eternity. If there is dancing in heaven, she and Grandad are teaching the two step.