(no subject)
Today would've been Mary Quinn's - aka Maud - birthday. Fuck cancer. She passed away last November from Stage 4 uterine cancer that was diagnosed too late to do anything.
Maud was a mattress-dwelling, knowledge-dropping, onion-chopping hermit who had an exceedingly eloquent turn for words and humor, an intensely caring heart, and an innate kindness I can only dream of achieving in my lifetime. She was, in a word, amazing.
She made me want to be a better person than I am. She still does.
Rest in Peace, Maud, where ever you may be.
Thinking about Maud puts me in mind of my grandmother, who passed away February 21st of this year, and my cousin Dan who passed on the same day. Virigina Dare Brooks - known to me as Grandma Brooksie, was also an amazing person. She grew up during the Depression, married a minister, and raised two wonderful daughters. As long as I could remember, she was in the business of helping others. Always, always.
Her little ministries, as she called them, were her life. I remember her coming over to our house, looking through the drawers in our kitchen, and commenting that we didn't really need that extra silverware, did we? Didn't really need that extra saucepan, did we? There were other people who could use them. She called it her kitchen ministry, where she would put together sets of kitchen items (utensils, dishes, cookware, etc) to help families who were making fresh starts or just plain needed help. She gathered winter coats and food items to donate. Would happily give whatever she could to anyone who needed it.
After my grandpa died, she lost some of her light. Her rock was gone, her Kenny. From then on, she would talk time to time, of going home to see him. But she never stopped trying to help people.
Within the family, Grandma Brooksie was notorious for giving something to someone, and sometimes asking for it back later. It was just Grandma. She was stubborn to a fault (though if you called her that, The Pout would quickly come into play) and used to getting her own way (preacher's wife, after all). She moved down to MO two houses down from my aunt, so she could get help if anything happened, but refused to call or ask for it because she didn't want to bother anyone.
Above all, I remember her kindness. Her love. Even when she sent me the incredibly embarassing yet hilarious letter at college, telling me to 'keep my sweet self for my future husband'. I hope I still have it somewhere. I should get it framed.
The last few years were..hard. Really hard. After she had the first stroke (not first overall, but the one that was the beginning of the end), she bounced back pretty well. My mother started driving down there more often. After the second one, she couldn't function alone. I still kick myself for not visiting her when I had the chance. I never got to say goodbye, not really. I talked to her a few times on the phone, but she could barely form words I could understand and it broke my heart. I was selfish, though, in not going to visit. Just like I knew would happen when I told Mom no, that I didn't think I could handle it. I knew I wasn't going.
I still feel so fucking guilty about that.
Maud was a mattress-dwelling, knowledge-dropping, onion-chopping hermit who had an exceedingly eloquent turn for words and humor, an intensely caring heart, and an innate kindness I can only dream of achieving in my lifetime. She was, in a word, amazing.
She made me want to be a better person than I am. She still does.
Rest in Peace, Maud, where ever you may be.
Thinking about Maud puts me in mind of my grandmother, who passed away February 21st of this year, and my cousin Dan who passed on the same day. Virigina Dare Brooks - known to me as Grandma Brooksie, was also an amazing person. She grew up during the Depression, married a minister, and raised two wonderful daughters. As long as I could remember, she was in the business of helping others. Always, always.
Her little ministries, as she called them, were her life. I remember her coming over to our house, looking through the drawers in our kitchen, and commenting that we didn't really need that extra silverware, did we? Didn't really need that extra saucepan, did we? There were other people who could use them. She called it her kitchen ministry, where she would put together sets of kitchen items (utensils, dishes, cookware, etc) to help families who were making fresh starts or just plain needed help. She gathered winter coats and food items to donate. Would happily give whatever she could to anyone who needed it.
After my grandpa died, she lost some of her light. Her rock was gone, her Kenny. From then on, she would talk time to time, of going home to see him. But she never stopped trying to help people.
Within the family, Grandma Brooksie was notorious for giving something to someone, and sometimes asking for it back later. It was just Grandma. She was stubborn to a fault (though if you called her that, The Pout would quickly come into play) and used to getting her own way (preacher's wife, after all). She moved down to MO two houses down from my aunt, so she could get help if anything happened, but refused to call or ask for it because she didn't want to bother anyone.
Above all, I remember her kindness. Her love. Even when she sent me the incredibly embarassing yet hilarious letter at college, telling me to 'keep my sweet self for my future husband'. I hope I still have it somewhere. I should get it framed.
The last few years were..hard. Really hard. After she had the first stroke (not first overall, but the one that was the beginning of the end), she bounced back pretty well. My mother started driving down there more often. After the second one, she couldn't function alone. I still kick myself for not visiting her when I had the chance. I never got to say goodbye, not really. I talked to her a few times on the phone, but she could barely form words I could understand and it broke my heart. I was selfish, though, in not going to visit. Just like I knew would happen when I told Mom no, that I didn't think I could handle it. I knew I wasn't going.
I still feel so fucking guilty about that.