In Honor of My Granny
She always wore perfume, an Elizabeth Taylor if I remember correctly. If you happened to catch her on the right day of the week, her red hair would be in a silky scarf that hid her rollers.
She held all the dignity of England and the fiery tenacity of the Scots in her small frame. She knew how to host a party and which fork was which. You couldn’t tell which of her clothes were from Macy’s and which she had sewn herself. She drank tea and light beer and was a really good friend to many.
I was nineteen going on twenty-five. I had just ended an engagement. I felt broken and free all at the same time. As I sat sipping my water in the living room, she sat down next to me.
“’Mander,” her Australian accent still clung to her vowel-ending words, “I want you to know, I think you did the right thing.” Her hand landed on my knee, reassuring me.
“Thanks, Granny.” It came out a little awkward. I don’t think I had ever really talked about boys with her.
“You know, I broke off an engagement before your Gramps.”
Her words kind of hung in the air. I looked at her with shock. I could see the determination on her face to share this story. “I was young, and I thought I was in love. He was handsome too. But he was a Catholic, and I was a Protestant. I would have had to marry him in the Catholic church. I would have had to convert. I thought I loved him, but I just couldn't give up that part of myself. I wouldn't stop being who I was and who I wanted to be for anyone.”
I listened, hanging on to her every word, trying imagine what she must have looked like and how she must have felt. Young, beautiful, and fiery.
“I really thought I would end up an old maid. I was already old for not being married in those days. I volunteered at the Navy hall and served American soldiers. I met your Gramps that way, while he was in the service. My mother began corresponding with his mother. And when I decided to visit my relatives in England and America, my mother arranged for me to stay with your Gramps's mother. Your Gramps happened to come home on leave while I was staying with his mother, and we decided to marry.”
I marveled at her courage. Leaving home. Leaving comfort. Stepping out into the unknown.
She paused. “I have never looked back. I held onto my values. I waited for the right thing. I have had a long and happy marriage, 3 kids, and 6 lovely grandkids. I wouldn’t trade it for the whole world.”
She didn’t share the marriage struggles or the sleepless nights with her babies or the trying teenage years. And she didn’t have to. I knew the hard times were there. She had never been one for gushy sentimentals either, perhaps a sign of the generation she belonged to, but she didn’t have to say anything more. I knew it. I felt it. I was her prize. Her legacy. The thing she fought for. The thing she wanted dearly. I was worth it. And she loved me.
She was calling me to fight.
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| Me and my granny in Washington D. C. way back in 1997. |
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| My Granny's Treasures one year after she left us (plus my aunt and uncle on my mom's side). Note to self: I think this is my most recent picture of my dad's side of the family with everyone in it, we should probably change that ;) |
So, as I sit missing my dear granny, praying for my gramps who is in the hospital, and thinking of Mother’s Day, can I just say this?
Whether you are a mother or not, there is something woven into the fabric of every women’s heart: to give, to fight, to love, to pursue, to encourage. Perhaps it’s occasionally ignored or the trials of life crush it, but it’s there, and it needs to be called out.
So, here’s to the determined, the fighters, the wisdom imparters, the courageous. Here’s to the givers and the servers. Here’s to the tenacious. Here’s to all who are willing to live life with conviction and pass that conviction on. Here’s to all who have ever gone out of their way for another. Here’s to the vulnerable.
Here’s to my moms, my grandmothers, my pastors’ wives, my dear mentor friends…
Happy Determined-Warrior, Sacrifice-Maker, Real-Beauty-Imparter Day!
Happy Mother’s Day!
By Grace,
Amanda Conquers
PS- Could I ask you to pray for my Gramps? His heart is failing him, and, more importantly, he is not a believer. Thank you, friends.