I never managed to write the intended post about my trip to Mississippi.
The occasion was tragic, yeah, but the trip itself was pretty nice.
My immediate family have never been as close to my dad’s side as they have to my mom’s. Blame that on my mom being bossier/more attached to her mom, or proximity (with the difference only being about 20 miles), or whatever. In any case, we’d spend weekends or vacations at Mamaw’s house, and never visit Mama Ree for more than an afternoon, it seemed.
We lost Mamaw a few years ago– after my dad. That was a rough stretch.
I guess that only reduced further the number of trips to MS that we took as a family. So, there were fewer opportunities to stop by Mama Ree’s place, and even when we were there, the visits didn’t always happen. It had gotten to the point over the past couple of years where I was the primary– sometimes the only– point of contact between my dad’s family and my own. I’m the namesake– I guess that’s my job. It didn’t feel totally fair to me at times, though. I cared about everyone involved, but I felt like I needed backup, or something, right? One forgetful grandson shouldn’t be the only one in charge of staying in touch with an entire wing of the family. I did what I could, though. I’m pretty good about calling, but terrible about mailing things.
Belinda, an aunt, tried sending me a text message a few months back, and we’d trade occasional updates on Mama Ree’s health. I knew things weren’t great, so when I heard that things were going downhill in January, it wasn’t a huge surprise. I began to figure out when I could head out to MS.
—
I ended up trucking toward Grenada on a Tuesday. In the Lexus. My mom’s. The Talking Car was in the shop for a couple of weeks to fix a not-my-fault bumped hipwound, and my mom was on a boat trip, so the timing worked out for me to drive the mini-SUV to the homestead. No GPS or XM, but it does have heated seats and a six-disc changer.
I’m never any good at getting up and leaving on time, so I made it to the funeral home just in time for the pre-visitation family time in the private room with Mama Ree. A little cry from my cousin Katelyn led me through a closed sliding door to where my aunts and uncles and cousins were standing– arms linked, hands held, gazing quietly at my grandmother. Ashley showed up just a few minutes later, and we greeted everyone quietly. Before long, the steady flow of well-wishers began, and didn’t slow for nearly three hours.
At least a half-dozen people told me how much I looked like my daddy, and I got to chat with a few distant cousins and great-uncles about my grandfather, Lawrence Whitten. Lawrence died when my father was very young, and I knew almost nothing about him. I still don’t really, but I was able to mine a few tidbits. “He liked to fight… and he liked to keep somethin’ goin’,” said one relative. This is not surprising when you consider that his death reportedly involved gunplay and a dispute over horse ownership in a barn somewhere.
Sharp looking fella, no? I wonder what kind of a grandfather he would have been? We didn’t get the chance to find out. Mama Ree eventually remarried one James Marshall “Bo” Bloodworth, of whom I do have faint memories from my early years.
Near the end of the visitation, one of my dad’s elementary schoolmates introduced himself to me. He told me how he and my father had a contest every Sunday to see who could tie his tie the most precisely– the one with the two ends matching up the closest was the winner. Learning the Double Windsor had escalated the challenge to a new level. I’ve got to tell you, readers, I was holding back tears with a smile at this point.
Everyone had nice things to say about Mama Ree (most considered her a Hotline to Jesus for Montgomery County, MS because of her dutiful, enthusiastic prayer routines), but almost as many said the kindest things to me about my father, too, and I was proud to be his son.
Tuesday night, Ash and I headed back to Aunt Bet’s house, where the power was out. We ate cold cut sammiches and chips by candle- and lamplight, and enjoyed time with cousins from the other side of the family. There was a mounted squirrel on the wall of my cousin’s room where I slept. Welcome to Holcomb, MS.
—
The next day was cold and clear and beautiful. The funeral was respectful, and well-attended. The reception afterwards back at the church was an amazing show of generosity and kindness from friends and family. I’ll try to post up a picture or two sometime soon (I’m way behind on the Flickring).
I will miss my grandmother, but I’m glad that her recent years of illness are behind her now.
Long post, I know. It’s more for me than it is for you. Maybe it’ll inspire you to write a note to a loved one, though. Send along a recent photo if you can. They love that stuff.
Have a good weekend, folks.
NP :: Faith No More - “Mouth to Mouth”
