THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 24, 1996 TAG: 9603240045
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: Medium: 58 lines
My grandmother - we called her Mama - always loved flowers.
This time of year in her white frame house, the first signs of spring would adorn her yard. Lush ferns, daisies, a bed of roses, ready to show their beautiful, passionate faces.
That wasn't all she loved about the spring. Easter, one of her favorite holidays, was right around the corner. And in an earlier time, that meant cooking a meal of baked ham, macaroni and cheese, baked apples, creamed potatoes and the best green beans ever made. The finishing touches were banana pudding and strawberry shortcake.
And springtime meant a renewal of faith. She would sit in the first row of the choir at the East Thomas Baptist Church and sing from the Baptist Hymnal. Her favorites were the old standards, ``The Old Rugged Cross,'' ``Beulah Land,'' and ``How Great Thou Art.''
Somehow then, it is fitting that the good Lord, worshiped by my grandmother all of her life, decided to end her time here on Earth on March 20, 1996. She was 86.
The first day of spring.
Her passing was something I thought I had prepared for. After all, for the last three years Alzheimer's disease had taken the final piece of her memory of any of us. I thought the end, somehow, would bring relief.
But when the news came, news I confess I had sometimes wished for in recent months, I wasn't ready.
I wasn't ready to give up on the mistaken idea that one day, she would just wake up, be her old self, and call me on the phone to ask if I was watching Billy Graham on television.
I wasn't ready to say goodbye to the woman who on every Sunday morning of my childhood got me up and took me to East Thomas Baptist Church, so that I would learn the lessons she had learned from her Bible.
I wasn't ready to part with the woman who had brought so many special moments to my life. I wanted to sit with her again, pull a stick of Juicy Fruit from her suitcase-sized purse, and hear the story of how she taught Cousin Signa to drive, how, as a young teacher she actually coached basketball in Depression-riddled rural Alabama.
I would even like to hear again about the hard times. My grandfather battled alcoholism throughout much of his life, and it made things tough sometimes for her and for my Dad. But one night, amazingly, my grandfather said he would stop drinking, and he did. My grandmother believed prayer did that. And I do not doubt it.
My grandfather died in 1968. My father followed him 20 years later. From then on, we watched as a vibrant, active woman was kidnapped by a strangers. Grief and Alzheimer's disease do that.
I am no theologian. And I do not know what heaven looks like.
But my heart wants to believe that as of today, Heaven will have roses and strawberry shortcake, Juicy Fruit and green beans, and laughter.
And love. Lots of love. by CNB