Weep With Those Who Weep

Margie M. Brown

February 15, 1927 - April 23, 2009

I know weeping is not a popular thing to do. Especially in our culture. Death is largely sanitized and not dealt with properly, because we live in a world that values fun above all else.


Trust me. I'm all about fun. Nobody can laugh and party better than me ... and Grandma. She could party until two in the morning well into my adult years.


But when it's time to weep, it's time to weep. So I invite you to come along with me, and remember my Grandma, and weep with me if you feel so led.


I promise you'll be glad you did.


Grandma's passing is by far the largest loss I have experienced, and I'm having trouble even expressing what I feel. So please bear with me while I work through my emotions and simply reminisce about one of the most influencial people in my life.


Oh ... and grab the the coffee, m&m's, and tissues, will ya'?


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Grandma was a great many things, and this list could go on for quite some time. But for now, I'll just name a few that are heavy on my mind and heart:

Grandma was available. No matter when you showed up at her house, she always had time. And if she was busy, she would simply involve you in whatever it was she was trying to accomplish, whether it be canning, gardening, or waxing nostalgic (my personal favorite). I don't know of a better way to make someone feel loved than to simply be there for them.

Grandma was giving. If you were truly in need, Grandma would do whatever she could to help you. Especially if you were hungry. In fact, I know she secretly hoped you would be hungry when you came to visit. She loved to feed people. Heck, no need to be hungry. Have something to eat anyway! Just for the fun of it. Especially if she baked a pie. And holy cow, could she ever make a pie. Especially apple pie. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

Grandma was hot-headed and ornery. She had flaming red hair when she was young, and the temperament to go along with it. Wouldn't you if you were the oldest of nine children?

I didn't inherit the flaming red hair, but I did inherit orneriness. Okay ... maybe I'm a little hot-headed too. But only if you don't do what I say.

Grandma was competitive. What else would motivate an old lady to stay up until all hours of the night playing rummy and the infamous "Take Two" game, invented by none other than Grandma herself? If nobody was there to play with her, she'd break out the cards and play solitaire. And why not? A gal could cheat on solitaire and never get in trouble for it. Wink, wink.

Grandma was stubborn. Her and Grandpa puchased a piece of property when I was six. Two acres of nothing but adobe dirt. But when they were finished with it, it looked and felt like paradise. Rose bushes, lush green grass, and weeping willow trees abounded, complete with a huge garden, a tree house, and a hill to go sledding on at Christmas time.

Why do I bring up yard work under the subject of stubbornness? Because if you tried to help her with the upkeep, you had better do what she says, how she said it, and when she said it. No budging. No talking her in to keeping a rose bush she was done with. No setting the sprinklers a different angle than she desired. She was the boss, she was ok with that, and you had better be too. And not just where yard work was concened.

And last ... for now ...

Grandma was the Queen Bee. Not just of my family, but of her family of nine siblings. On April 23rd, many people lost a grandma, a sister, a mother, an aunt ... and a friend.
A matriarch.
I lost the one who has been the most stable, enjoyable person I've ever known. And my heart literally hurts. But you know what? Time and Jesus will heal that hurt.
Death has been overcome because of Jesus, and I know one day, Grandma and I will once again laugh and reminisce to our heart's content.
And I'm positive biscuits and gravy, apple pie, and peanut butter balls will be close by when that time comes.
~Brenda