This week's column, y'all.
It's all about TRQ's mother, my grandmother, who was probably the single most important person in my life until I was about nine. As I grew older I sometimes resented her because she was such a human tsunami, and I often felt powerless in her presence. But living without her for all these years has had a gentle winnowing effect on my memories, and what I do linger over now was her goodness.
I miss her.
3 comments:
Your column brought back a fond memory of someone else's last words. Shortly after my husband's aged grandmother--who was born a Romney--died, his mother told me this story. Grandma's children were gathered around her deathbed. Someone said, "I think she's gone." Grandma said, "No, I'm not!" Then she died. I've heard that Romneys are strong-willed, but I've never been able to get my mother-in-law to repeat the story. She claimed not to remember it happening. I think she found it potentially disrespectful and blocked out the memory. I find it endearing and hilarious and prefer to think it's true.
Great article. I had forgotten the story about the garden, but I remembered the story about the tint. The TRQ's father's last words to my daughter were spoken with 24 hours of his death. He said maybe he could visit and they could play some football. Peculiar statement for at least 3 reasons:
1. He was 95 and I think he knew was dying and not likely to visit again;
2. They had played football together exactly ZERO times in the past; and
3. Neither of them were really that looking forward to playing football in the future.
Nevertheless, its a little connection they have.
Gorgeous.
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