White Diamonds and Wendy’s

On the day my grandmother passed, my siblings and I, across miles and without planning, honored her in the most fitting way we knew how: with Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers and vanilla Frostys. My sister insisted hers was made to perfection, surely approved by the matriarch herself.

My Grammy, as I called her, was a dynamic woman. We knew never to enter the house empty-handed. A McDonald’s sweet tea with light ice, a bottled root beer, or fresh tomatoes would do. She was easy to please, yet particular in the ways that made her unmistakably herself. She loved having her nails done, always wore lipstick, and refused to leave the house with her greys showing. Her shoe collection was unrivaled; her jewelry, carefully curated. And her perfume was unforgettable. You often smelled her before you saw her, a cloud of what I believe was Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds announcing her arrival before she ever entered the room. She carried herself with a quiet pride and a sense of occasion, even in the ordinary moments.

My Grammy was many different things to each of us, in exactly the ways we needed her to be. We’ve always argued about who was her favorite, because in so many ways, and in the ways that mattered most, she made each of us feel like we were. She held each of us in her arms and in her heart during moments when that love was so intentionally needed. That was her gift.

For most of my childhood, my Grammy and my Paw Paw, before his passing, lived with our family. They fill nearly every memory. One of the most enduring is from an ice and hail storm when I could not have been older than seven or eight. I woke in the middle of the night, terrified, and ran to her room. She pulled me under a pink blanket and held me close, assuring me we would be safe right there together. I do not remember how dangerous that storm truly was, because with her, I never felt in danger at all.

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the grief I hold for the way her later years were stolen from her, and from us. Her kindness and patience waned as her body and mind struggled under the weight of pain. She fought to live the life she had left with the strength she could muster, and we felt both the loss of who she had been and the depth of who she remained.

I will continue to honor her in the sweetest ways I know how. In shared treats, in pink outfits, in carefully chosen jewelry, and in the quiet strength she gave me during my biggest fears.

 She carried me then.

And I will carry her with me always.