My grandmother went to be with the Lord on Monday at the age of 89. She had a relatively peaceful death, after a life that had it’s share of hardship. Most notably, she lost her husband in a tragic accident around Christmas when my mother was a teenager.  Wish I could remember what year… anyway, I’m a little sketchy on the details, but as I recall, it was the middle of the night and there was a butane tanker truck that had wrecked there in the little west Texas town where they lived.  The driver could not get out of the truck and those who were there to help were afraid the tanker would explode, so my grandfather was called, as he was an expert with that sort of thing.  He drove over to see what he could do, and Memommy went with him.  He got out of the car and was walking toward the tanker when it exploded, killing him instantly. I can’t imagine what it would be like to witness the death of my husband in such a violent manner.  But God is good and He sustained her, Clara, Neva and my mother during that difficult time.

My memories of Memommy are mostly of times spent at her little motor home in Brownfield, Texas.  Her quick wit… quoting Psalm 23 before bed every night… watching The Price is Right while quilting or doing some other handwork… oppressive summer heat that baked what little grass she had to a nice golden brown, with the ubiquitous drone of the locusts chirping so that to this day I feel hot when I hear the sound…  getting my hair cut (she was a beautician)… the big rubber ducky that always sat on her bathtub.  We’ll miss her, but are happy she is finally home.

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