The Extraordinary Life of Carol Jean

This is the face I want to remember for the rest of my life. I see my mother in this face. I see all of my aunts and my cousins in this face. I see a huge family that all came to be because she was in this world.

I made a hard decision - one that I know not everyone will agree with. I'm not going to her funeral. Because this is the face I want to remember.

You know, days go by and I keep remembering so many little things that I had forgotten. Triple decker sandwiches. Terrible for you, but when my Grammy made them, they were the most delicious things on earth. And her french toast. No one ever made better french toast. I remember her little house on Gray Street - the one where the hurricane came through and knocked down the tree across the street. I remember being a teenager and getting the chance to earn extra Christmas money helping wrap presents for the family she was working for.

My grammy was a caregiver. She took care of older people, sick people, handicapped people in their homes. She also provided day care for children. If it wasn't one, it was the other. She just cared for people. She was sweet and kind and it was rare that we ever saw her really upset over anything. When she finally retired, she lived in a little apartment in a senior center. She loved that little place. And I know it upset her when she finally had to give it up and move in with one of my aunts.

I wish I were stronger. I wish I could face being there with everyone saying good bye to her. But I'm not. This is the best way I know how to cope with her being gone.

She lived in Indiana, but she made it down when my son was born. I can see her in my rocking chair, holding my baby and singing softly to him. She held all of our babies in her arms. And they all just took to her. She had that way.

Her birthday is Christmas Day, and one year my mom told us that we were all pitching in to buy her a grandfather clock. Except my mom and aunts lied to us - they really bought her a plane ticket to come down to Florida and when she walked in the house on Christmas Day, we were shocked. That was the same year my aunt announced she was pregnant by having her open up a gift box with a bib that said "World's Best Grandma".

She left an abusive husband and raised 4 girls. She never had a license. She lost her mother too early, but I guess it will always feel like we lose some one we love too early. She helped to raise her grandchildren when our mothers needed help. She promised not to tell my mother when I pierced my tongue at the age of 22. My younger cousin ended up busting me on that, but my Grammy didn't break her promise. She had the scrawniest chicken legs. And she was beautiful to all of us. All of her grandchildren called her different names. My sister and I call her Grammy. Some of the cousins call her Grandma. And the younger ones call her Memaw. It didn't matter what you called her, she answered.

When she was in the hospital last week, I didn't go up because I thought going up meant that I was accepting she would be gone. And I wasn't ready. When she made it through the surgery, I thought it was a sign that I'd made the right decision. My grammy was going to get better. It wasn't time yet.

And then it was. When my mom called me, I knew it wasn't going to be good news. And I know I've hurt her feelings by not being there but I hope she understands and forgives me. And I hope my Grammy understands as well. I want to see her smile.

(One of these days I'll come write a blog that isn't sad.)

I love you Grammy. I'm sorry I wasn't a better granddaughter. I know they say you're in a better place but I still want to be selfish and have you here so I could make it up to you. I'm so, so sorry.