My Mamaw

The picture I previously posted brings back a lot of memories about my dear grandmother--my mamaw. She loved me with a fierce love. She was my dad's mom. After my parents' divorce, I spent a great deal of time with her and my papaw. One weekend a month and long, hot, sticky summer weeks. I remember being able to sleep as long as I wanted and always waking up to the smell of biscuits. When I finally made it to the kitchen there would be a plate of syrup swirled with butter waiting for me to sop my biscuits in. I remember always getting an Alfred Hitchcock magazine at the beginning of the trip full of thrilling tales I would savor. My mamaw also loved to read and particularly loved mysteries, so this was a pastime she understood and honored. Most importantly I remember the love, the deep, deep love that sometimes smothered me more than the thick humidity. But now, I treasure that love. I treasure all the prayers uttered on my behalf. I treasure the safe-haven that home was. I would not have become who I am without them.


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