A Birthday Wish
and a vow to remember.
Saturday 9.14.24
Happy birthday, Grandma Elaine. You lived a life I will never know. You had stories you never got to tell me. I have a vague memory of playing in the sandy driveway at the farm, while you watched me from the front porch. The only story that has pervaded my entire life was of your death. An event I never knew of until I was twelve and we moved to the farm where my daddy was raised.
I remember when we first moved into the little block house at the end of a long driveway with fields on either side. My younger brother, Michael, and I explored every nook and cranny of this place. Most of our time was spent wandering in the longleaf forest behind it but we also liked exploring the old outbuildings. One of those buildings was a syrup house with a bricked in syrup kettle and chimney. Behind the cast iron kettle was a rudimentary ladder that led up to a loft.
One spring day we were feeling adventurous and decided to climb up there. The loft was full of spider webs and such but then we found a box of Christmas stuff. Granny had recently been taking us to a fundamentalist church that didn’t allow any celebration of Christmas. We decided to have our own celebration that day.
We went out in the woods and found a little cedar tree to decorate. My nine-year-old brother and I brought it back, set it up and hung ornaments and shiny tinsel on it from top to bottom. There was even a star for the top. Then I found a little box containing a small nativity scene. I set up the wise men, Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus in the manger. We sang Christmas songs all afternoon.
When daddy got home, we were excited to tell him about the treasure we had found.
“Daddy, did you know there’s a box of Christmas stuff in the syrup house?” I inquired.
He was livid. “Y’all have no business in that building.” He said gruffly. “That box of stuff belonged to your Grandma Elaine and must’ve been placed there by Grandpa.”
“Oh, well we’ll gather it back up and give it to him then.” I said.
“NO!” He said quickly. “You will not mention to your Grandpa what you found, and you will NOT be going back up there.”
That was my first experience with your spirit here on the farm. Not long after that, a cousin revealed to us that you had shot yourself and showed us the indention in the ceiling of daddy’s bedroom where the bullet had gone through. From that point on, instead of being afraid that you had died in our house, I was in a constant state of wondering why.
I have always felt a connection to you, even though I only have that one blurry memory. I feel like you’ve always been here and now that I live in this house once again, I’m opening my mind and heart to any signs you may send.
The red spider lilies you planted around the front porch still bloom this time of year. I thought they had all been destroyed during the last remodel in 2005, but they began popping up again a few years ago. They were being shaded out by Grandmother Magnolia, so I moved them to my no-till garden where their red blooms surprise me among it’s late summer wildness. In recent years, I’ve noticed there are some planted around the porch at Grandpa’s dilapidated house down by the ‘hoopee river. I have no idea who planted them there since he moved there long after you were gone.
Grandma Elaine, I vow to write your story, to be your voice, to keep your memory alive. Your blood runs in my blood, your hands toiled in this same soil I toil in, you danced, you sang, you lived and you died in this little farm cottage we have made our home and which your great-great-grand boys love to come and visit.
Due to the tragic circumstances of your death, most would like to forget you, but I know that without you and the connection you made with my Grandpa, I would not exist.
I hope you enjoyed this offering. I hope you’re enjoying this late summer/ early fall wherever you are. I hope you are remembering and will be remembered.
Blessings to y’all,
💜B💜
So powerful, Becki. Such important healing work.
Blessings to you, Becki🌱💚🌿💫