Family

There are certain things that a preacher should never screw up, weddings and funerals. The preacher, who knew my grandmother for 15 years, that she specifically asked for, screwed it up. The only time he talked about my grandmother was when he listed family. He got her birthday wrong, her sister's name wrong (both of them) her brother's name wrong, my brother's name wrong and my nephew's. He then went on to preach a Sunday morning sermon about God's love and the afterlife, how comforting the bible is...etc. On top of all that it rained. If it were any other cemetary, I don't think it would've mattered. But this one has calachi gravel rodes. However, I don't begrudge the rain, that was...comforting, actually. My mother says it was raining when I was born. Between that and having a father who was a weather man in the Navy, I've always liked storms. This was the slow steady kind, where the thunder rumbled long and low, and the rain was a steady downpour. You could tell all the people who live down here thought it was cold, but it was warmer then anything we get further up north. I wanted to play in the rain, like I did when I was little. Then have my grandmother yell at me for getting all muddy. My grandfather used to think it was funny, but he passed away about 20 years ago.

My grandmother used to say that rain was angels crying. I wondered if they cried for her today or the ones she left behind. A truly unkind part of me wondered of God was weeping because he to put up with her now. There are things about her I envy though. She played kanasta with her brother and sisters every saturday, unless she was truly ill. Her best friend, since high school, helped us out feeding all the people that came over. There is such history in this family. The quilt that I am using on my bed here was made by her grandmother. Everyone called her Mammie. There is furniture in this house that has been in the family for seven generations...and the pictures. She has pictures that are a hundred years old, of our family. I may not like them...or even know them all, but dear, holy, God, do I have family. I had cousins of my mother come up to me who hadn't seen me since I was a child. I nearly cried, when a great Aunt, who was like a grandmother to me, didn't know who I was, her mind is going. My roots here are strong and deep, albeit a bit twisted and rotted in places.

Idily, I wonder if my grandfather would've liked my husband. I think so. He may not have approved of some of my other choices, but he would've loved me anyways. He spoiled me rotten. Everyone always wondered how he could stand to babysit me as a infant, because I would cry all the time for anyone else. He would, “Taking care of her is easy...just give whatever she wants.” He would come home from the oil fields in the middle of the night and pick me up out of my crib. My mother would get upset at him for waking me, but he never did, I was already awake. An insomniac and a night owl from the start. He taught me how to fish and clean them, how to spit watermelon seeds, and let me comb his hair. He had great, thick, wavy hair, that he always kept oiled down. He'd sit in his big chair and let me do whatever I wanted. He and my grandmother had a garden, at their old house, I remember tomato plants taller then me. I also remember my grandmother being an incredible seamstress. She would sew me Barbie clothes, with out a pattern, out of bits of material she had left over. She taught me how to iron, I used to practice on Barbie clothes and tea towels. My first experience at baking and cooking was from her. All this so I would be able to take care of my future husband and children. I don't think I ever truly paid attention to her 'lessons' I just enjoyed spending time with her. While she would make me go to church every Sunday (my parents did'nt go) we would spend the entire service playing tic-tac-toe. Or I'd have a small doll to play with quietly. I would always be hugged by people who knew me and I didn't know. Especially the preacher, who called me Widget, just like he called my mother. She couldn't say 'Richard' and said Widget instead. I inherited the name. No one has called me Widget since he died.

I miss them.