In Memory Of
Moments ago I read the blog entry of a friend. It was about his hero; his grandfather. As I read my mind was filled with memories of a woman in my life who I would call my hero. She is my great-grandma.
Her name is Tennie. My parents considered naming me Tennie, but decided it would start a family feud over them trying to suck up. She was born in 1906, and was an amazing woman. She lived through the great depression and two world wars. She married a man named Joe, and they were together for more than 65 years. Tennie had a grand total of 10 children.
The day I was born, as soon as my parents were allowed to leave the took me straight to Tennie and Joe's. I can't recall if Joe or Tennie was the first to hold me out of the hospital, but it was one of them. My parents have told me how everyone was worried because Tennie was so old, she shouldn't be holding the baby. My mom just told them she raised 10 kids of her own and that my mom would leave me with her any day.
I have only a single memory of my great-grandpa Joe. He died when I was about 6 months old. I'm sure psychologists would say there is no way I remember this, but I do. I was laying on my back in the floor, and he was sitting on the floor in front of his hair, playing with my feet. My friend who posted about his grandfather, said he always liked to think he was the favorite. Joe looked up at Tennie while holding me one day and said "this is the best one yet." I was the favorite, everyone knew it, and no one tried to hide it.
I have many more memories of Tennie though. She lived next door to my grandma, and grandma Kay was my babysitter while mom and dad were at work. Tennie taught me the first thing I ever really remember learning. I would go over to her house around breakfast. She would pull a chair up to the stove and stand next to me, teaching me to break the eggs into the skillet, and how to flip them without breaking the yokes. Everyone thought she was crazy for letting the 3 year old cook, but no one ever got hurt.
I remember going out and playing in her yard, helping her water the flowers. She would go outside and walk around in her yard for hours. I remember how she used to let me put her make up on. Everyone said I made her look like a harlot. But she still let me put her make up on however I wanted, and she would let me fix her hair, much to the annoyance of her daughters who would just have to fix it again. I would help her hang the sheets and towels on the clothes line, and bring them in when it rained. I think I learned all about domestic chores from her.
Like my friend, my family was much closer with her around. Every other year we would have Thanksgiving at her house, and the inbetween years were Christmas. With 10 children, our family was rather spread out. They were only all together when they were at her house. I remember Christmases, there would be so much food that it would take up all the counters plus three tables to feed us all. There would be anywhere from 30-50 of us depending on if all the grandkids and great-grandkids made it. She would even let us have Halloween parties at her house so us little kids didn't have to go out and do a bunch of walking in rain or cold, depending on the year.
I too remember thinking she was immortal. I remember comparing her to one of those punching bags, you knock her down she just pops right back up. She would get sick, and get better, it just seemed like she could beat anything at all. She was in her 90s and still doing just fine living on her own. Then came the day that one of her daughters cancelled her dr appt because she didn't think Tennie needed to go. That afternoon she had a bloodclot. They found her unconcious on the floor. They put her in the hospital, and that was where she stayed until the day she died. I begged over and over again for them to let me go see her. Everyone knew this was it, and I kept begging them, just let me say goodbye. Everyone said they didn't want me to see her like that. The last memory I have of my great-grandmother is of us sitting in chairs across her living room tossing a stuffed ball back and forth while everone else was cleaning out the garage.
She died a few days before Christmas, the year 2000. I have a picture of her, taken no more than 24 hours before she died. I can't say she died painlessly, but in that picture, she looks happier than I ever saw her. Most my family says she knew she was going to heavan. I like to think she's in heavan, even though I don't really believe there is one, and that my wild little bitty kitty is sitting right there beside her, and Joe on her other side. My grandma Kay gave me the watch she had bought for Tennie for Christmas. I still have it, but I've never worn it. I can't bring myself to wear it.
I started going to church alot after she died, the same church where she went as a child. My self journies in life have lead me to believe that there is no God, but I do believe there was something special about that church. Not because of God or Christ, but because my great-grandma held it so close to her heart.
Since then our family has never been the same. Two of her children preceeded her in death, the other 8 were split down the middle. It's been a considerable amount of time since I saw Morgan, Dorthy, or Janice. I've seen Carl recently, but it wasn't till after he left I realized he wasn't a stranger who had walked up to Kay's house to ask directions. Wanda, Junior, John and my grandma I am very close to. I take every chance I get to spend time with them, so we often play card games late into the night. The last time the whole family was together was at Tennie's funeral. I went, I said goodbye, I took a single rose from a boquet home. I didn't cry. I felt bad for not crying, but it was about two weeks after she died that I did. The only way to explain it is that I was beyond tears. A grief that could not be shown through tears alone.
I have some various items that once belong to my great-grandma. I cherish them greatly, and hope to pass them down to my own kids someday. To show them that I still have the last dollar she gave me, to tell them how she used to hide money in the furniture, and let you keep it if you found it. Usually it was just a dollar, sometimes it would be a $5, and on occassion one would be so lucky as to find a $20 suffed under the couch coushins.
I haven't given much thought to going back back to visit her grave, but now that I do, I don't think I can. I was young when she died, but as soon as my father said the words "she passed away last night" I stopped being a kid. Everything became more real. Everything became more difficult. Suddenly my family was all fighting, on mom's side and dad's. They didn't all live on the same few blocks where a 5 year old could safely walk from one relative to another with no concern from the family. Life stopped working out. Before everything eventually resolved itself, and everyone was ok. Since then, I have been suicidally depressed, I was kicked out of school, I lost all my friends, I've been stalked, I've been harassed, I was threatened and hit by school officials and the kids at school, and the sad part, all that was within a year of her death. Some of them are childish problems, others are very real. To go back to her grave, would be going back to the place where my life changed forever. Someday, I will be able to face it, and put these last 6 years behind me, to finally start to recover and move on, but it probably won't be soon. I want that to be the last step in moving on, and that's a step I'm not ready to take.
I plan on moving away from here, sadly breaking our family even more. Perhaps her grave will be the last place I visit, concluding that which started there. Finally beginning another chapter in my life, memories of her brining back the joy they were to live, rather than the pain of what I lost.
Her name is Tennie. My parents considered naming me Tennie, but decided it would start a family feud over them trying to suck up. She was born in 1906, and was an amazing woman. She lived through the great depression and two world wars. She married a man named Joe, and they were together for more than 65 years. Tennie had a grand total of 10 children.
The day I was born, as soon as my parents were allowed to leave the took me straight to Tennie and Joe's. I can't recall if Joe or Tennie was the first to hold me out of the hospital, but it was one of them. My parents have told me how everyone was worried because Tennie was so old, she shouldn't be holding the baby. My mom just told them she raised 10 kids of her own and that my mom would leave me with her any day.
I have only a single memory of my great-grandpa Joe. He died when I was about 6 months old. I'm sure psychologists would say there is no way I remember this, but I do. I was laying on my back in the floor, and he was sitting on the floor in front of his hair, playing with my feet. My friend who posted about his grandfather, said he always liked to think he was the favorite. Joe looked up at Tennie while holding me one day and said "this is the best one yet." I was the favorite, everyone knew it, and no one tried to hide it.
I have many more memories of Tennie though. She lived next door to my grandma, and grandma Kay was my babysitter while mom and dad were at work. Tennie taught me the first thing I ever really remember learning. I would go over to her house around breakfast. She would pull a chair up to the stove and stand next to me, teaching me to break the eggs into the skillet, and how to flip them without breaking the yokes. Everyone thought she was crazy for letting the 3 year old cook, but no one ever got hurt.
I remember going out and playing in her yard, helping her water the flowers. She would go outside and walk around in her yard for hours. I remember how she used to let me put her make up on. Everyone said I made her look like a harlot. But she still let me put her make up on however I wanted, and she would let me fix her hair, much to the annoyance of her daughters who would just have to fix it again. I would help her hang the sheets and towels on the clothes line, and bring them in when it rained. I think I learned all about domestic chores from her.
Like my friend, my family was much closer with her around. Every other year we would have Thanksgiving at her house, and the inbetween years were Christmas. With 10 children, our family was rather spread out. They were only all together when they were at her house. I remember Christmases, there would be so much food that it would take up all the counters plus three tables to feed us all. There would be anywhere from 30-50 of us depending on if all the grandkids and great-grandkids made it. She would even let us have Halloween parties at her house so us little kids didn't have to go out and do a bunch of walking in rain or cold, depending on the year.
I too remember thinking she was immortal. I remember comparing her to one of those punching bags, you knock her down she just pops right back up. She would get sick, and get better, it just seemed like she could beat anything at all. She was in her 90s and still doing just fine living on her own. Then came the day that one of her daughters cancelled her dr appt because she didn't think Tennie needed to go. That afternoon she had a bloodclot. They found her unconcious on the floor. They put her in the hospital, and that was where she stayed until the day she died. I begged over and over again for them to let me go see her. Everyone knew this was it, and I kept begging them, just let me say goodbye. Everyone said they didn't want me to see her like that. The last memory I have of my great-grandmother is of us sitting in chairs across her living room tossing a stuffed ball back and forth while everone else was cleaning out the garage.
She died a few days before Christmas, the year 2000. I have a picture of her, taken no more than 24 hours before she died. I can't say she died painlessly, but in that picture, she looks happier than I ever saw her. Most my family says she knew she was going to heavan. I like to think she's in heavan, even though I don't really believe there is one, and that my wild little bitty kitty is sitting right there beside her, and Joe on her other side. My grandma Kay gave me the watch she had bought for Tennie for Christmas. I still have it, but I've never worn it. I can't bring myself to wear it.
I started going to church alot after she died, the same church where she went as a child. My self journies in life have lead me to believe that there is no God, but I do believe there was something special about that church. Not because of God or Christ, but because my great-grandma held it so close to her heart.
Since then our family has never been the same. Two of her children preceeded her in death, the other 8 were split down the middle. It's been a considerable amount of time since I saw Morgan, Dorthy, or Janice. I've seen Carl recently, but it wasn't till after he left I realized he wasn't a stranger who had walked up to Kay's house to ask directions. Wanda, Junior, John and my grandma I am very close to. I take every chance I get to spend time with them, so we often play card games late into the night. The last time the whole family was together was at Tennie's funeral. I went, I said goodbye, I took a single rose from a boquet home. I didn't cry. I felt bad for not crying, but it was about two weeks after she died that I did. The only way to explain it is that I was beyond tears. A grief that could not be shown through tears alone.
I have some various items that once belong to my great-grandma. I cherish them greatly, and hope to pass them down to my own kids someday. To show them that I still have the last dollar she gave me, to tell them how she used to hide money in the furniture, and let you keep it if you found it. Usually it was just a dollar, sometimes it would be a $5, and on occassion one would be so lucky as to find a $20 suffed under the couch coushins.
I haven't given much thought to going back back to visit her grave, but now that I do, I don't think I can. I was young when she died, but as soon as my father said the words "she passed away last night" I stopped being a kid. Everything became more real. Everything became more difficult. Suddenly my family was all fighting, on mom's side and dad's. They didn't all live on the same few blocks where a 5 year old could safely walk from one relative to another with no concern from the family. Life stopped working out. Before everything eventually resolved itself, and everyone was ok. Since then, I have been suicidally depressed, I was kicked out of school, I lost all my friends, I've been stalked, I've been harassed, I was threatened and hit by school officials and the kids at school, and the sad part, all that was within a year of her death. Some of them are childish problems, others are very real. To go back to her grave, would be going back to the place where my life changed forever. Someday, I will be able to face it, and put these last 6 years behind me, to finally start to recover and move on, but it probably won't be soon. I want that to be the last step in moving on, and that's a step I'm not ready to take.
I plan on moving away from here, sadly breaking our family even more. Perhaps her grave will be the last place I visit, concluding that which started there. Finally beginning another chapter in my life, memories of her brining back the joy they were to live, rather than the pain of what I lost.