Neeny Memories

My brother David wants to compile a book of memories about Neeny to give out as Christmas gifts this year. We did this when Grandaddy died, and former teachers of his, friends, family, and church members contributed to a collection of the funniest, most endearing thoughts you've ever seen. It's just the kind of thing he would have loved, and it's such a tender collection that I've only read it once in its entirety. My Grandaddy was the greatest man I've ever known, and Neeny kept us all on-task until the collection was complete--because he deserved that.

But working on Neeny's memory is harder. A year after her death, and there are still no words. It's just like when we were saying goodbye to her in the hospital...anything I could come up with was miserably inadequate and in the end I just held her hand and sang to her and told her thank you. Over and over and over again...thank you.

I'm trying to make a list, first. Then maybe I'll choose just one memory from the list and expand on it. Problem is...how do you extract one single thread from an entire tapestry that is our souls? She's woven all the way through it! I don't know. Words may fail again tonight. But she'd totally get that. So I'm gonna try.

1) I remember when she used to take a bath with me when I was little. She'd get in the tub and the water would rise way up and we'd both laugh. Then she'd scrub my ears. That's the kind of thing you don't forget. My brothers and I got together once and tried to stage a mutiny against having Neeny scrub our ears...but in the end, we were too scared to tell her how much it hurt, and we suffered on in silence.

2) She had a bed for each of us. There ended up being 7 grandchildren, so having a bed for each of us was no small feat. She thought it was important, though. We had moved a lot and lost our Daddy and added a step-daddy, and she wanted to give us some stability. So she turned her family room into a bedroom, and even a closet at one time hosted a mattress on the floor--just for me.

3) She used to walk me up 4 flights of stairs to Sunday School class in the old building. Back then I was shy, so as soon as she'd leave, I'd head to the bathroom and wait for an hour for Sunday School to be over. It's funny now, but wasn't then. When she found out, she let me come to Sunday School with her for awhile. All that while, she made me call and order pizza, or go in and ask for directions, or any of those other things that shy people hate to initiate. I thought she was mean, and wished she would just let me hide. I think of her all the time now, as I meanly try to rear my own shy children.

4) When I was 6, she read to me the very first chapter book I ever read--When Molly Was Six. I don't even know who wrote it. It was very old-fashioned, and Molly wore her hair in rag curls (which Neeny put in my hair) and had a tortoiseshell-colored cat. It took months to finish that book, as we dissected every page. I loved it.

5. She never would come to the hospital when babies were born. She always said she'd leave that up to my sentimental Grandaddy. She didn't like to see people in hospitals, and didn't like to discuss it.

6. She was incredibly impish. She had a twinkle in her eye that belied her age. She wasn't much for playing tricks, but she was quick-witted and could see the fun in just about any situation. Any time I would tell her about my crazy class, she would laugh and find something positive to say. Then she would tell me about the year she taught a 3/4 transition class with 40 kids in it, and one little fella in there climbed up in the ceiling beams and she lost him. He ended up making kids laugh--that's how she found him--and he also ended up learning to read that year. She adored him.
This year when one of my students jabbed a pencil in a light socket, I came home and wept because Neeny would have helped me laugh about that--or see a bigger picture with that kid--or something that would have made it seem better. I missed her terribly that day.

7. She wanted Grandaddy to feel independent once he got dementia. We were all hollering to take his keys away, but she knew how that would crush him. Their bank was right up at the end of the street. She used to send Grandaddy out to go to the bank, and then in 10 minutes, send me to go find him. It irritated me. I thought she was endangering Grandaddy and other people on the road, and Grandaddy was never at the bank where he was supposed to be. One time I found him about 4 miles away, pulled over and about to cry. She quit sending him after that...and I respected what she had done to show love for him. As was always the case, her way was the right way. I miss that. It's harder for me to know the right way. She never hesitated, and often bucked the rest of us and conventional wisdom.

8. Speaking of Grandaddy, Neeny cared for him at home. She said that's what families do. She never wanted him to go to a nursing home, so she (in her stubborn, wonderful way) arranged this schedule of people to get Grandaddy out of bed each morning and bathe him and put him to bed each night. I don't know who else in the world would have even tried something this crazy--but she kept repeating that this is what families do--so we did. Eric and I put Grandaddy to bed 3 nights a week, and got to know many other fabulous church members/volunteers from their church this way. Grandaddy spent less than a month in the nursing home--and that was only after he refused to eat anymore.
When Neeny was ready to move in with someone, our family literally all begged her to come--even after seeing how hard it can be. In the end, she coolly made her choice to come here, and wrote this amazingly upbeat letter to send to all her friends, notifying them of her change in address and how excited she was to be on a new venture.

Well, I guess that's enough for one sitting. My shirt's sopping, which Neeny would think was funny. This isn't really a terrible exercise. It kinda feels good, really, just to remember and savor.

I want to be just like her one day.