Mamaw Made it Home

(Mamaw on the right)


The day before she passed away, tears escaped my eyes as I peered into my 89-year-old grandmother's beautiful, bright, blue eyes. Unable to speak much after her brain surgery, her eyes still expressed immense love, and in response to my tears, her eyes began to water. Mamaw managed to whisper an "I love you" that I will never forget.

This is the woman whose stories of old have caused me to appreciate and cherish my ancestors, awakening a passion to dive into history and seek the treasure of the past that opens the doorway to future. I will always protect the memories I hold of my back-porch tea times with Mamaw. I can hear the 'clack clack' of her swing set as the sound of her voice breathed tales from her childhood and I could feel the joyful, morning air that she described of the Sunday mornings that she climbed upon her circuit-preaching grandpa's wagon and headed for town so that he could deliver the Gospel. She spoke of the nights when she stayed at Grandpa Robbins' and Nana's home, and the knocks that frequented their front door, from young couples-in-love who had traveled for hours just to search for the preacher who could marry them. Mamaw would stand as a witness of the matrimony in the middle of the night. The next morning, she would watch Nana iron Grandpa's shirts on the wood stove, pressing them neatly so the preacher would be well-dressed for church services.

Mamaw remembered hot, dry, Texas summer days, in which she raced the clock and thermometer in an attempt to pull a melting block of ice home in her wagon so they would have a cold ice box. She told me of dust storms that would blow in, and despite closing windows as quickly as possible, they would have to dust everything in the house after it passed. Her daddy worked hard as the town butcher...old Joe Bridges, the Bartlett meat man. Locals would give little Teddie (yes, that's my Mamaw's name) a nickel to encourage her to climb the poles that held up the awning outside the butcher shop.

Just over a week ago, she told me about the time she, her mother, and sister were hitchhiking and a Texas Ranger picked them up. He drove them nearly 100 miles to their destination as he let them know that Bonnie and Clyde had recently been killed by another Ranger. He told them where Bonnie and Clyde's car was and she later went to see it...blood splatters and all, just as it was left after they were shot and killed.

One of my favorite stories is about when she lived in Austin and she would have to periodically hunt down her little sister, Billie Jo, after the school informed her that Jo failed to show up for class...and Mamaw always knew where to find her. The Paramount Theater on Congress Avenue, right down the street from the capitol. That's where little Jo spent some school days, in the left balcony, watching the "picture show."

Mamaw once waited tables in her mother's Oak Hill cafe, where President Lyndon B. Johnson often came for lunch. She recalled how Lady Bird Johnson would enter the cafe in search of her husband and she would ask, "Have you seen that old horse fly in here?" Mamaw also had the privilege of serving Tennessee Ernie Ford. Many memorable folks would pass through and some even paid her mother, Pearl, to sing for them.

So many stories. So much wisdom. A life filled with love, adventure, mistakes and trials...even a bar fight I recall hearing about...and as rough as she could be, there was a grace she exhibited that many could never begin to understand, or hope to have the capacity to carry themselves. That grace will forever astound me and I will also never forget something she said last year of my grandfather: "I should have never divorced that man." What she learned of covenant has inspired me. Most of all, her yearning to go home to be with Jesus...her joyful dance-step at the talk of Heaven...her smile and sparkly blue eyes said it all. While I'll miss hearing her voice, I thank God that Mamaw finally made it home.