A letter to Maw Maw

Today was a tough day. Today was my Maw Maw's funeral. It still seems surreal to type that last sentence. I have been fortunate enough to have had all 4 of my grandparents here with us for 31 years. So this feeling of loss is new to me. Although she has had health problems for a while, and I always thought she would probably be the first to pass on, it still seemed to happen too quickly. I spoke to her on the phone on Wednesday and early Thursday morning, the Maw Maw I knew and loved was gone. She went into respiratory and cardiac arrest which lasted for 10 minutes. Because of the lack of oxygen to her brain, she suffered severe brain damage and was placed on a ventilator. For four days, she was unresponsive and in a coma. It was very difficult to watch her lie in that hospital bed. She could not open her eyes, move, or speak. Everyone kept saying she could hear us. I think this comforted some, but it made me feel uneasy. I didn't like the idea of her hearing us and not being able to respond. But I am glad that she might have been able to hear many of us saying goodbye to her and know that we were all there with her. Our family made the decision to remove life support on Sunday evening. She passed away peacefully 20 minutes later.

Dear Maw Maw,

There are so many things I will miss about you. But I will remember you and cherish these memories forever.

1. Playing in the basement. I'll never forget the piano, international dolls, or the Bee Gees guitar.
2. Spending the night at your house.
3. The way you always said, "Good Night, Don't let the bed bugs bite" when tucking us into bed.
4. The way you let us have coffee in the morning. (And sugary cereal).
5. The way you would take us to Kroger the night before to buy sugary cereal if you didn't know ahead of time that we were spending the night.
6. The way you could always count on finding club crackers and goldfish in the pantry, Coca Cola and Sprite in the refrigerator, and Klondike bars in the freezer.
7. Little chocolate things with little handles. (aka Hershey's Kisses).
8. The way your candy dishes were always filled with #7.
9. The way you always had peppermints in your purse.
10. The way you would stand in your driveway, jump up and down, and wave bye with both hands each and every time we left your house.
11. Taking baths in the basement bathroom with all of the wind up bath toys, bath paint, and pink dove soap.
12. The way we had drawers of extra clothes and jammies at your house.
13. Jiffies (aka slippers or house shoes).
14. "I'm going to hang you up by your toes, and let the rabbit nibble your nose."
15. The way you always brought presents for all of us when it was someone's birthday. (And the way you carried on this tradition with our children). You always said, "we/they just wouldn't understand" even though we/they would have (and you probably knew that).
16. The way you always took us to Sunday School and church with you.
17. The way you could curl my hair in those perfect little ringlets.
18. The way you took us shopping for back to school clothes.
19. Heck, the way you took us shopping every Sunday after church.
20. The way you took us to eat at the Sheraton after church. I will never eat an Eggs Benedict without thinking of you.
21. The way you always brought us back bags of travel size shampoos/conditioners, etc. whenever you went on a trip.
22. The way you always gave us your free gifts when you bought something new from Estee Lauder.
23. Saddle oxfords.
24. The way you took me to the Marriott Marquis once just to hang out in the lobby and wait to catch a glimpse of a New Kid on the Block.
25. Mick's and fried green tomato sandwiches.
26. The way you decorated your house for Christmas.
27. Maw Maw biscuits.
28. Banana pudding. (And the way you hid it in the laundry room so we would think you didn't make it. But you always did.)
29. Christmas Ham. (I sure hope this recipe can be found somewhere).
30. The way you brought sausage and biscuits to our house every Christmas morning when you came to see what Santa Clause brought us.
31. California Pizza Kitchen.
32. The way your oxygen tanks never slowed you down.
33. Countless Braves and Thrasher's games.
34. My first country concert. Randy Travis.
35. My first trip to Las Vegas. And the way you allowed my boyfriend (who would become my husband 5 years later) tag along.
36. The way our conversation started the same each and every time I called you at the office. "Estelle Howard, may I help you?" Hey, it's me, Kristen. What are you doing? "Me? I'm trying to get a little work done."
37. The way you would mutter under your breath when you were irritated. Although we could all hear you and we usually knew exactly what you were irritated about.
38. The way you never wanted anyone to go without. (You heard one of us say we didn't have a jacket to match one day. The next time we saw you, you brought us 5 new jackets. Each.).
39. The way you love your great grandchildren so much, you refused to move from the hallway outside the door as one of them was being born. The hospital staff finally brought you a chair.
40. The way you spoiled those great grandchildren just as much as you did your grandchildren. Your boyfriend (aka Collin) and little Kristen (aka Katelyn) love you very much. I wish they could have known you for as long as I had the privilege of knowing you.

What I don't like about this post is the # of memories that are missing. I know I'm leaving something important out. It's impossible for me to sit here and list 31 years worth of memories of you. I have to add some of my favorite stories that I don't remember, but that you have told me throughout the years. Like the time you took me to the toy store. I loaded your arms full of toys and then looked up at you and said, "Hold me, Maw Maw." Or the time I cried because I thought you didn't buy the swing set, when really Paw Paw was building it in your back yard as I was crying. Or how you used to have to hold my feet to make me go to sleep.

Maw Maw, I am going to miss you so much, but I know that you are in a much better place. I know that you can run and you don't need your oxygen tank anymore. I know that you are taking care of Daddy's brother now. I know that you are looking down on us always. You will live in my heart forever. I hope that there is a shoe store (and a Saks Fifth Avenue) in Heaven.

Estelle Kinsey Howard
December 12, 1935-October 10, 2010
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be at your back,
May the sun shine warmly on your face,
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.