Goodbye Granna

This morning we said goodbye to a true southern Lady. Mrs. Jamie Baggett displayed all the graceful elegance of that charming definition of "lady" only known to those belonging to that greatest generation of ladies who could feed a full table of field hands, while balancing church work, taking care of her husband and cherished boys and do it all in the Tennessee summer heat, seemingly without breaking a sweat. Even though I only knew her when her hair was as white as cotton, there was so much evidence of her past in her presence, that everything I came to know about her made it seem easy to fill in the rest.

My wife's fraternal grandmother, Sam and Henry's mother was known to me as Granna. She spoke a dialect that is often imitated when that southern dialect with just a hint of aristocracy is depicted (often so poorly) in the movies. Even at 94 her voice was music. When she spoke of her eldest son Henry, a gentle and kind man who can curse more creatively than anyone I've ever had the pleasure to know, you might have thought he could sprout wings and fly right up to heaven if he took a notion. And her baby, Sam, my father-in-law captured her attention and affection to the degree that if he happened to be anywhere near you'd be hard pressed to catch her loving gaze in any direction other than his. "Say-am, you know I love you De-ah" she'd coo. Or to Amanda, "Don't evah fugit how much I love you Sweet-haht."

She had a reputation for her preference of quality, and it ranged from her fine solid furniture that, in her words, "You need only to buy once" to the people whom she held dear, and who in the end saw her through to the other side. She was not left to wonder whether or not she was loved in the halls of a nursing home or a hospital room, but she was cared for in Kelly and Sam's warm and beautiful home with family singing hymns around her bed, ready to bring her her favorite chocolates or anything else she might need.

Of course there were the moments of frustration, maybe even a thrown pillow. But for the most part Mrs. Baggett made her exit without much fanfare. She sang praises to her Lord, made certain those who cared for her knew she loved and appreciated them, and she peacefully bid her farewell to this earth.

Death is always sobering. It always makes me wonder what people will say about me. That's probably evidence of my uncanny ability to somehow turn everything around to be about myself in one way or another. But I think it is good to be reminded that one day, if we are lucky, friends and family will gather around and try to sum our lives up while not spending too much money (as the obituary does still cost by the word.) So what will it be? He sure did talk a lot? He played the piano pretty well? Or, he lived with grace, had a preference for quality, praised the Lord, and loved his family well? I hope it is something like the latter. Granna set an example that it would be wise for anyone to follow.