I’ve been struggling the past couple of weeks. On Tuesday, March 30th, my grandmother Margaret Tess Brown / Markham / Fullerton passed away. We called her “Memaw”.

Memaw was a unique figure in my life. She may very well have been the nicest person I’ve ever known. She was genuinly joyful all the time. Whether she realized it or not, I think her example gives us alot to go on.

To be honest, Memaw was probably so pleasant mainly for two reasons. She never held a grudge against anyone for anything, and she had selective hearing. Whether you were telling her for the third time that she didn’t need to re-wash and re-fold your clean laundry while she’s visiting, or that you burnt a house down, she would just faintly smile, nod, and keep going. She made a conscious effort every day of her life to focus on the positive, and to show compassion to all those around her.

Memaw only thought of other people.

One thing that stood out about Memaw was that she would reliably send cards on every major holiday. Up until she started getting particularly sick, there were plenty of times that I had forgotton St. Patrick’s Day or Halloween were coming up, until I received a card from Memaw in the mail. I’m sure any of her other grandchildren could probably say the same thing.

Another thing that stood out about Memaw, at least when I talked to her, was her penchant to ask about people she knew I cared about, despite the fact that she had only met them once or twice, just so she could know how they were doing. Sometimes she would ask how my half-sister Megan was doing (though she had only met Megan a couple of times and it had literally been 12 or 15 years since she had), or Memaw would ask me if I still talked to some random high school friend of mine she had met at one of my birthday parties years prior. And sometimes she would call me out of the blue, just to say ‘hi’, and ask me how my job was going.

Memaw was mindful of all of us.

For the last week and a half since Memaw’s passing, I knew I needed to come up with something to say here this afternoon. And sadly, I had trouble narrowing down one or two specific memory to exemplify my relationship with her. Most of the time I’ve spent with her was during my earlier childhood – when she lived up here, later when she didn’t, when she visited often – but it was still my early childhood. And honestly, who remembers much about their early childhood? But as I sat down to write, having thoroughly procrastinated, two memories came to mind.

The first, is from my mid-teens, when she was in town one winter to be helpful around the house when Melissa was on bed rest. I had managed to talk Memaw into pouring some coffee for me to take with me to the bus stop. And I kid you not, when I got up to that bus stop and took a sip, that coffee tasted soapy. It’s not something you miss. Annnnd I was bold enough to tell Memaw about it later. Naturally I wasn’t sure she believed me, but I let it slide. I mean, c’mon, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But she drew entertainment from the notion, and for the last 8 years, every time coffee has been mentioned when her and I were both around, she made sure to chortle that it had better not be soapy. She thought it was hilarious. And I guess it was.

My other memory, one more distant, is from when I was a wee lad. It was on a particular night that Memaw was babysitting me, and some sort of program, I think that involved music, was on TV. I can’t tell you what it was, maybe it was a Sonny and Cher re-run, I honestly don’t know, but I remember one of the people on the TV saying something to the effect of “just you and me, babe”. And I turned around and said it to Memaw “just you and me, babe”. And Memaw repeated it back to me for years, with a warmness that was unique to her.

My only regret is that we didn’t get her any great-grandchildren before she passed. But I’d say she got good mileage out of the family she had.

We love you Memaw, and we’ll keep you with us always.

Saturday, April 10, 2010 7:07:00 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)      Comments [0]  personal | family