Last night at around 8, my Granny Irby passed. She was 98 and, ironically, had a total of 98 children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great great grandchildren. I'm sure her reunion was very joyous and long awaited for a woman who was so good, so kind, and so in love with the Lord.
Here she is with my great grandfather, Pete, whom I never knew. They had 11 kids. They named one after a movie star, Alice Faye (who is and is married to a Holiness preacher and loves to remind you that she is named after a celebrity). Also, the one I've always known as "Uncle Pete" is actually not named Pete or Peter; His name is James Carey. I don't know the exact order and I can't remember all of the names, but my Meme' and her living sisters and brothers visited Granny at least once a week for the past few years. They had a beautiful sunroom where they hung out and rolled her in there.
I'm pretty sure Uncle Robbie is responsible for this.
Here she is with my great grandfather, Pete, whom I never knew. They had 11 kids. They named one after a movie star, Alice Faye (who is and is married to a Holiness preacher and loves to remind you that she is named after a celebrity). Also, the one I've always known as "Uncle Pete" is actually not named Pete or Peter; His name is James Carey. I don't know the exact order and I can't remember all of the names, but my Meme' and her living sisters and brothers visited Granny at least once a week for the past few years. They had a beautiful sunroom where they hung out and rolled her in there.It reminds me of how the last few weeks with my Papa were. The whole family hung out at the hospice house and just loved each other, enjoyed each other's company, and laughed and cried. A few times we laughed too loud and recieved several nasty glares. But it wasn't out of disrepect, it was out of the joy and humor of memories and of stories of my Papa. I think he would have loved it. Had he been able, he would have been the one telling the most stories in a most theatrical way. There are a few things that stick out in my mind about the last moments with my Papa:
1) The last moment I had alone with Papa he was breathing very hard and was pretty unresponsive. However, he knew I was there and managed to smile because of me. Mama said, "Ali, did you see that? He smiled. You could always make him smile." We always had a very special bond, I think more so than the rest of my cousins because I was at their house every day and every night during most of my high school years. I never doubted that he loved me, he was proud of me, and that in his eyes, I was something precious.
2) When we knew the end was near, everyone circled around his bed and held hands. It was a tight fit and some of us were sitting on top of others. We each went around the circle and said something to him. But I couldn't. I was afraid, I was shy, I wanted it to be just me and him, but mostly, I didn't want to let go. My cousin Tif said, "Thank you for being the father to those of us that didn't have a good one." That's how I felt and I needed him to stay with me because of how much I loved him in that way.
3) My Papa had been in a wheelchair for about 9 or 11 years. He was an extremely active man before that and it killed him to be in that chair. However, it was a blessing because otherwise I might not have ever known him. He always worked and the only time I remember him when I was small was when he would come in late for dinner and I'd still be at the table (I've always been a slow eater) while everyone else had moved in to the sitting room. He and I would eat (he put chowchow on everything he ate), we would talk, I would laugh and look at the dirt under his nails. Which today I constantly find under my own nails and it sort of makes me happy.
The night after he died I had this dream. I was in Meme and Papa's bedroom. It was cluttered and I knew he was there but couldn't find him. He was in the corner beside the dresser they kept (which was full of McDonald's toys that Papa hoarded because "they'll be worth something one day!") but I wasn't sure if it was him. I kept yelling for him and finally, he stood up. He stood up, he smiled at me as if to say, "I'm fine, I'm happy", and I cried. I think I awoke crying. And it was the most beautiful dream because I knew it was more than a dream. It was another one of those Holy moments where it's all connected and everything is good and as it should be in the world.
I don't mean to take away from my Granny's death by talking about my Papa. But it's all one. It is family, it is your past and your present, it is a part of who we all are. And I think the best way to honor those who we have loved and lost is to let them know how well we are doing and to carry on their stories. And to be thankful that we got to use them, to love them for just a little while.
2) When we knew the end was near, everyone circled around his bed and held hands. It was a tight fit and some of us were sitting on top of others. We each went around the circle and said something to him. But I couldn't. I was afraid, I was shy, I wanted it to be just me and him, but mostly, I didn't want to let go. My cousin Tif said, "Thank you for being the father to those of us that didn't have a good one." That's how I felt and I needed him to stay with me because of how much I loved him in that way.
3) My Papa had been in a wheelchair for about 9 or 11 years. He was an extremely active man before that and it killed him to be in that chair. However, it was a blessing because otherwise I might not have ever known him. He always worked and the only time I remember him when I was small was when he would come in late for dinner and I'd still be at the table (I've always been a slow eater) while everyone else had moved in to the sitting room. He and I would eat (he put chowchow on everything he ate), we would talk, I would laugh and look at the dirt under his nails. Which today I constantly find under my own nails and it sort of makes me happy.
The night after he died I had this dream. I was in Meme and Papa's bedroom. It was cluttered and I knew he was there but couldn't find him. He was in the corner beside the dresser they kept (which was full of McDonald's toys that Papa hoarded because "they'll be worth something one day!") but I wasn't sure if it was him. I kept yelling for him and finally, he stood up. He stood up, he smiled at me as if to say, "I'm fine, I'm happy", and I cried. I think I awoke crying. And it was the most beautiful dream because I knew it was more than a dream. It was another one of those Holy moments where it's all connected and everything is good and as it should be in the world.
I don't mean to take away from my Granny's death by talking about my Papa. But it's all one. It is family, it is your past and your present, it is a part of who we all are. And I think the best way to honor those who we have loved and lost is to let them know how well we are doing and to carry on their stories. And to be thankful that we got to use them, to love them for just a little while.
I'm pretty sure Uncle Robbie is responsible for this.
Aunt J, the roomate, Granny, Mama, and their childhood friend Tina.
And lastly, a picture of the Papa Mawmaw of the famed Hippy Hippy Go Massey Show: 
No comments:
Post a Comment