Last breaths
Death is inevitable, and in no way affects each of us the same. Experiencing multiple deaths in my relatively young life, I’m learning that the circumstances of how those deaths occurred, and my relationships with those individuals, undoubtedly defined my emotional reactions, or sometimes, lack thereof.
Death of my grandpa when I was a middle schooler – I don’t recall, but expect I was emotional; more so in the fact that I was admittedly uncomfortable with death and expressing emotions in general, and even more so reacting to the rare emotions it produced in my parents, especially my mom, as it was her father. He had suffered life-long, debilitating health problems, which had impacted her family and childhood greatly for many years. My other grandparents several years ago – admittedly I wasn’t emotional, as I never had a close connection with them; my heart was saddened only for my dad in that he had lost his parents. My baby sister’s sudden, unexpected death 15 years ago at the young age of 26 – well, that shattered me.
One week ago, my grandmother, my “memaw”, my last living grandparent, physically left this earth at 94 years old. The last living soul, the oldest generation of my family, gone. Her body and lungs had been tired and failing for some time, and miraculously, God had guided our family to recognize increased care for her was needed. She spent her final months living comfortably with her son and his wife – being lovingly doted on and cared for in every way possible; her favorite meals; fried chicken nearly every day, and as much ice cream as she wanted every night in front of the TV; constant pets and snuggles from the pups; numerous visits from friends, her grand-children, and great-grandchildren.
She was surrounded by constant, genuine love and affection in her final weeks. I was blessed beyond measure to be able to be with her and my family in those final days, and to watch her take her last breaths right before the sun rose on Saturday morning, August 12. To be with my mom as she watched her own mother leave this earth was nothing short of humbling, and deeply thought provoking. Would this be me one day with her? And would it also be Dylan one day with me? It instantly made me miss him; I wanted him with me, to hug him so tight in that moment. It was a stark reminder that Dylan would miss a lot of these rare family moments, as he was serving our family in a different way across the globe. Of course I sulk in those thoughts, but I accept it.
Now I don’t want this to come across the wrong way, but in my heart, my grandmother’s passing was nothing short of perfect. There was so much comfort in knowing she left us in no pain, and with as much love poured into her as humanly possible. The people she loved most in the world came together, all together in endless love and support for her. The entire experience, for me, was nothing short of spiritual, and one I will never forget.
She was such an important part of my life, and such a driving force and inspiration in the person I am today, so I was surprised when sad emotions of her passing did not instantly come. Of course, tears were shed, but I can’t really put into words the peace and acceptance I have genuinely felt.
I couldn’t think of a better way to honor this angel on earth than to write something special for her, from me, and speak it proudly and lovingly at her service.
Let us consistently nudge our children to call their memaw’s, place efforts in visiting them, and be present in those visits; hug them tight, listen to their histories and stories, and most importantly, be thankful for the time they have with them.
I love and miss you, memaw. This is for you.
My Memaw
Good Afternoon. On behalf of myself and our family, we would like to take this moment to graciously thank each and every one of you for being here today to remember and honor the beautiful life of this very special lady. If you are here today, my guess is she has too touched your life in a magical way. Know that your support and prayers for her and our family, both near and far over these past few weeks, even if by the smallest gesture, is not lost on us. And for this, our most sincere THANK YOU.
For those of you who may not know me, or, maybe you just haven’t seen me since I was a little girl with cute, curly brown pig tales, running around her yard on Jade Avenue, I am Jennifer Judice Whittington; oldest daughter of Mike and Susan White Judice, middle grandchild of Norma, who forever will be remembered as our Memaw.
My love for writing is deep. I write hundreds of emails a day, write complicated real estate proposals for work, and even more recently write a personal blog about my new and unexpected experiences as an Army mom. Choosing to stand here today, to graciously honor and remember this angel on earth, will undoubtedly be my most meaningful and honorable written works.
Sifting through dusty photo albums this past week, the playback of joyful memories from a southern childhood are quite heartwarming; but more importantly, I profoundly recognize the core of the person I have become, is largely in part to her. Her steadfast work ethic, her generosity, her raw, but kind honesty, her ability to make people, even complete strangers, feel comfortable in any setting – these were just a few of her many gifts to this world, and I feel lucky to have taken note, weaving these admirable qualities into the fabric of my own being.
Many memories and stories will be shared here today, and I know that most of us closest to her have so many stand-out moments to recall; maybe some that were beautifully rare, and personal to us as individuals; others that were frequent and perhaps appreciated by many. Her laugh – there was nothing quite like it; her occasional off-color humor; and let’s not forget – she was the gold standard in southern sayings that sometimes just made us kids, and maybe even adults, scratch our heads.
Mentally scrolling through my personal memories of time with her, I was suddenly struck by a distinct memory from one of our many weekend sleepovers. Me and my sisters, whether we admitted it or not, would vie for the title of being the first wake. There was NEVER a scenario where Memaw slept later than we did – ever - no matter how tired she might have been. With us all piled in her bedroom, if she was awake, there would be faint light that would shine from the kitchen through her bedroom door. As if we hadn’t already invaded enough of her personal space with 3 girls sleeping with her in her bed, we were now competing to see who could just as quickly take away her morning quite time. I was surprised to recall a morning where I was the first to awake, and I remember slowly opening her bedroom door, peaking through the crack into the kitchen, observing her for what felt like hours. It was difficult to be stealth in her house, and her presence – she knew every move, every creak in the floor, so being able to go unnoticed if she was awake, even if for a minute, was genuinely not possible.
As a young girl, the image I witnessed didn’t strike me until later as an adult. She was sitting at that small, 4-person kitchen table. Alone, quiet, peaceful, stoic; slowing sipping her morning coffee. No conversation, no newspaper or reading material, just her and what I can imagine were vacillating thoughts of daily planning, general appreciation, and of course, life’s usual worries.
I wondered “What was she thinking of? Isn’t she bored sitting there by herself?” At my immature and selfish young age, of course, all she must be thinking of is how she can’t wait for me and my sisters to come running into the kitchen to be with her; Dishing out immediate demands for our coffee milk in our color-coordinated Tupperware cups, not to mention our special breakfast requests, where she would happily serve up our “memaw’s house only” breakfast of Cookie Crisp cereal with, an added bonus of whole milk, not skim.
Of course, I have humbly recognized that I was likely not the center of her thoughts in those quiet morning moments.
I can only imagine now where her thoughts would wander. Today, as you will hear repeatedly from her family and friends, she ALWAY put other’s needs before her own. And with that, I truly believe that in those brief, quiet morning moments she had with herself, this was where she gathered the endless strength to give to all of us selflessly, in the best way she could.
It’s ironic to remember such childhood moments and take note of how they’ve secretly embedded themselves in you. Sure, there were SO many more moments to reflect on, but this one stuck with me. I didn’t inherit her effortless ability and passion for cooking, or baking, and would like to think those passions were dished out appropriately to the right siblings and cousins, and maybe even in our own children for generations to come.
But for those closest to me, they know that there is no more favorite moment of my day than morning coffee with myself. And even though it might look different for me, sometimes in my car commuting to work, I undoubtedly know that somehow, this is all because of her. It’s where I witnessed it, questioned it, even mildly scoffed at it as a child, but now thankfully, cherishing it as an adult.
There is comfort in knowing that over my simple cup of morning coffee, I can have her with me, in my life’s special moments, my worries, excitements, and anticipations.
I will leave you all with gentle words of encouragement, especially pointed to the youth of our families – take note, in every moment with them. Open your souls to them, listen to their words and their stories, and really truly see them. Cherish ever moment with your memaws, or whoever that role is in your life. Seize the beautiful qualities from their character and don’t be afraid or embarrassed to embrace them as your own.
Because if you do, these special humans can peacefully and vibrantly live on within our families forever.