A Goodbye

Nellie Mae Doughty was born on July 25, 1925. I didn’t get to meet her until fifty-one years later, as Nellie Mae Hubble. But I got to hear about the adventures she had in the meantime. She grew up in Missouri with a bunch of brothers and sisters, which is why we always teased her about her “hillbilly” ways. She was pretty young when she fell in love with a soldier headed off to WWII. She told me that she didn’t know if he felt the same way until he kissed her goodbye instead of her cousin. He alone out of his group came back, and decided he would like to marry this beautiful girl.

Despite her obvious admiration, she didn’t make wooing an easy task for Grandpa. He had to ask quite a few times before she finally agreed to marry him. She planned her perfect church wedding, but a blood test result didn’t come back in time for Grandpa. So did they postpone the happy event? No, they crossed line into Arkansas where a blood test was not required and got married by a justice of the peace.

She had two daughters, though she always said she would have liked to have a big family. Little did she know at the time that God was planning on giving her nine grandchildren and 24 great-grandchildren before her time here was done.

It’s hard to know where to begin to speak about what my grandma meant to me. She wasn’t your typical grandma, but then she wasn’t your typical anything! Even if she weren’t the second most important woman in the world to me, it would have been hard not to love her.

I can categorize some of the wealth of memories within by using the five senses. Smells will forever be an instant reminder of my grandma. I remember sneaking into her room after she had finished putting on her makeup and doing her hair. The smell of aqua net hair spray, the fresh scent of her powder, and the light musky perfume that lingered in the air all serve as reminders of her to this day.

There are tastes that I’m sure she wasn’t planning on us remembering her by, but nevertheless we always will. Dr. Pepper, Kentucky Fried Chicken, her Thanksgiving dressing, ice cream sandwiches, just to name a few.

Seeing the pictures she took over the years, though she was always trying to stay out of them herself, reminds me of her. Always armed with her Polaroid camera, forever trying to capture moments and make them hers forever.

Hearing the stories she told while we sat at the kitchen table late into the night, sometimes a few of us, sometimes just the two of us. I got to hear all the stories that everyone else heard too, such as the cigar eating, the lost baby alligator, and the “Shower” incident, as well as a few that I never expected, and promised not to repeat. Grandma wasn’t one to hide her regrets or failures. She probably figured we could learn from them. And I for one, did.

I will always remember the touch of Grandma’s hands. They weren’t always gentle, such as when she would hold you down and tickle you or pinch you so hard she left a bruise. Her hands were rather frail for the last few years. But she had a way of communicating with her grip the love she felt for you, the will she had to hold you there forever so you wouldn’t go running back off into life, but stay with her instead. I always wished I could. It was hard to leave. Her touch may be the only thing some of her great-grandchildren will ever remember of her. Even in her last days, she was always on the floor crawling around with babies, carrying around toddlers that were too heavy for her, snuggling newborns even as she desperately tried to remember their names and which grandchild they belonged to.

Even as I try to draw this to a close, memories come rushing through my mind. How I could never win a game of Scrabble against her as hard as I tried, and how easy she made it look. How she’d bicker and carry on with Grandpa just to get a laugh out of us. I remember she’d lose Jenny and me in the store and hide in the clothes racks so we couldn’t find her. She had a funny way of acting like a ditz even though we both knew that she was smarter than I’d ever be.

Thank you, Grandma, for the legacy of faith. For the example of determination and spirit, and a life finished well. Thank you for being one of the best friends I’ve ever had. For loving me through the toughest times in life. For believing in me, delighting in me, and always telling me the truth.

I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more than these inadequate words can express.

Goodbye…. For now.