Mamaw's funeral was a week ago tomorrow. It was a warm and windy Tuesday - very appropriate for my tiny Floridian grandmother. At 83, she lived a long and purposeful life as a devoted daughter, mother, grandmother, friend, and wife. When her role as a wife ended three years ago, she sorely missed her other half every day. I can only imagine the reunion.
Last week was a reminder that our days with the Greatest Generation are numbered. That it takes intentionality to learn from the members whose formative years look so very different from our own. I've obviously thought a lot about Mamaw this passed week. Not just the sweet memories I have of her (though I was created with an extra dose of emotionally-charged nostalgia), but how I could honor her memory by simply being more like her.
I think about her when I choose to put the lighter back in its place after lighting a candle instead of leaving it on the nearest surface. Or when I rinse and reuse a butter container or when I follow a recipe to the T. I know I'll always remember her when I see blueberries or tea cakes - the two things she'd fill those reused, half-gallon butter tubs with for our trips back to college. Or when I see blue hydrangeas like the ones she grew on an astonishingly large bush in her backyard.
Our week in Louisiana was bittersweet, of course. Plenty of tears over our loss as well as laughter when recalling all of Mamaw's lovable quirks. When we were all about to make our way back to Alabama and South Carolina, my sweet parents thanked us for being there, reminding us that we did it again - we bonded together and took care of business. The McMahone way.
I know Mamaw Mc would be proud.
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