Kelli Eidson October 4, 2007 Personal Memoir

I walked in the house late that December evening only to be greeted by the solemn expressions on my parents’ faces. My great-grandmother had been extremely ill as of late so I automatically assumed it had to do with her. I bombarded them with questions before they even had the opportunity to explain to me what was happening. My mother and father were planning to drive down to Carrolton one last time to see her because she was fading quickly. My heart dove to my stomach as my imagination began creating all of the likely possibilities of her condition. I had an unusually close relationship with my great-grandmother. My mother likes to say it was a bond created at my birth. When I became older, my mother explained the importance of having a relationship with her. I was in seventh grade when my mother, aunt, and I began taking her to bingo; we went every Friday night without fail. Months and seasons passed and eventually I learned a lot about her. I could tell anyone almost anything about her past and I knew all of her little habits. She told stories of all of her struggles growing up, explained lessons that she had learn, and passed down old wives tales as if I was learning something vital to my life. The same stubbornness that ran through her veins also ran through mine. Her determination to be a hard worker was instilled in the rest of our family. I learned then where we as a family got the majority of our quirks. She was not some elderly lady who I felt I had to take care of; she was the matriarch of my family and someone I admired. Time wore on her body; she began needing surgeries and more medications. Her beautiful dark hair turned to a pale white and her soft skin turned into wrinkles. She needed a cane to walk more often than not to support her 5’1” body. When she became sick, the entire family would hold their breath and pray it would not get worse however, she stayed strong. Nevertheless, we all knew her time was wearing thin; I grimaced at the thought. I snapped back to reality in my living room as I looked at my parents. “I’m going with y’all,” I told them. My father protested and begged me not to go; he felt as though I would not emotionally be able to handle seeing her in such a dire physical state. He kept telling me that she was not recognizing anyone and barely spoke at all. I did not need to explain to him how much she meant to me, but I did explain to him that if seeing her one more time meant mustering up strength, I could do it. It was a long drive to Carrolton. I sat in the backseat of my dad’s SUV just looking out the window thinking of her. I found it hard to believe she would be leaving this world so soon. 93 years later, she was still here and it felt like she always would be. The rain started falling steadily as we made our way down the empty road which only made my heart hurt a little more. My mother did not have much to say either, for she was losing her grandmother as well. It was as though she was being strong in order to support me. We pulled into the drive of my great aunt’s house when the rain finally stopped. I got out of the car slowly, slightly hesitant to even enter the house. My mother grabbed my hand and my father wrapped one of his arms around me and we made our way to the house together, I think we were all a little frightened to see what we were about to see. My grandmother was the first of my family to reach me. I have a very close relationship with her as well. She pulled me into her arms and we cried together; I had not even seen my great-grandmother at this point. Our hearts hurt together and we understood each other’s pain. She pulled me back a little so she could see my face. She looked in my eyes then pointed me to the direction of the angel I called my great-grandmother. She was lying on a hospital bed in the middle of a cleared-out dining room. Her eyes were closed and I could tell how sick she was. I was afraid to wake her up when my grandmother walked in front of me to gently awaken her. As her eyes slowly opened, I became frightened that she would not know who I was, however she never let me down. A smile brightened her face as she gazed at my face then she uttered “hey there snuckemjack,” which was always her nickname for me. Out of all the family there, she knew and recognized me. Tears began to pour out of my dark brown eyes and then run down my face when I realized this so I bent down to kiss her cheek and let her drift back to sleep. My family and I left soon after that. I was silent on the car ride back thinking how lucky I was to have known her and have her love. There is nothing on the face of the earth that I would trade for that day; saying good-bye was one of the greatest privileges I have ever had. My great-grandmother taught me the significance of love and the importance of family and I hope that it is something I can pass on to my children as well.