She Stood On the Porch and Waved
A life of love, legacy, and the kind of home you never forget
This past Sunday, my mama called me and told me that my Grandmama had passed away.
She was 93 years old.
Ninety-three years of life. 74 years of marriage. Seven kids. Twelve grandchildren. Over twenty great-grandchildren. One great-great grandson.
That’s not just a life. That’s a legacy.
The first thought that hit me wasn’t about numbers or years. It was simple.
I can’t go to Grandmama and Grandaddy’s to see her anymore.
She won’t be standing on that back porch, waving as we pull out of the driveway.
I felt sad…but also calm. Like my heart knew something my head was still trying to catch up to. It’s still trying to catch up.
The last time I saw her was at Grandaddy’s 93rd birthday party. As we were leaving, I gave her a side hug.
She said, “Today was a good day.” I said, “Yes it was.”
I told her I loved her.
She said, “I love you, too, Maury D.”
And somehow, without knowing it, that was enough.
If you grew up like I did, you know some houses don’t just hold people…they hold memories.
Holidays meant going to Grandmama and Grandaddy’s.
Easter Sunday lunches with Kentucky Fried Chicken. Thanksgiving meals with huge platters of turkey and the stove and oven filled with so much food. Christmas Eve suppers and decorations all over the place. Birthdays, anniversaries, and just family get-togethers.
Most of the best parts of my childhood had her right in the middle of them.
Her house even had a smell.
She loved perfume, so there was always a hint of whatever scent she was wearing. In the summer, you could smell that window unit air conditioner the moment you walked in. My brothers and I would climb up on a chair and stick our faces right into the vent trying to cool off.
I’m sure she thought we were crazy. She let us do it every time though.
She would always get up from the living room and try to meet us halfway when we came in. As we got older, I would walk a little faster, so she didn’t have to walk as far.
But when it came time to leave…she walked all the way.
Out the door. Down the steps. And she’d stand there, waving and smiling until we were gone. I’d stick my hand out the window and honk the horn. She’d wave one more time.
I think I’m going to miss that the most.
Grandmama was the kind of person who made sure you felt at home the second you walked in.
You hungry? She’d fix you a sandwich.
Want something sweet? Vanilla wafers were on the bottom shelf in the pantry to the left of the refrigerator.
Thirsty? There were RC Colas or Pepsis in that little self-feeding rack, always ready for the next person.
She didn’t just open her home. She opened herself.
And you felt it.
She also loved to write.
Which, now that I think about it, feels like something she passed down without ever making a big deal about it.
She helped me write scholarship essays in high school. She helped me write my student council speech. She even helped me write my farewell speech when my term was over.
Looking back now, I realize she wasn’t just helping me find words.
She was helping me find my voice.
One of the clearest memories I have of her is from when I was a kid.
I was spending the night at a friend’s house and got scared in the middle of the night.
Mama and Daddy weren’t available, so Grandmama and Grandaddy came and got me.
My stomach was in knots. She gave me some Pepto Bismol, and I ended up spending the night there. And just like that…I was fine.
That’s how her house always felt.
Safe.
No matter what was going on outside those walls, everything settled down when you got there.
Even now, that’s what I keep coming back to.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized something.
I want our house to feel like that.
Not just for my kids, but for anyone who walks through our door.
Welcoming. Safe. Full of love.
The kind of place people don’t just visit…they remember.
I’ve told my kids how blessed they are to have known their great-grandmother.
Not everybody gets that. Not everybody gets to be shaped by someone like her.
But we did.
And we’re better because of it.
When I think about her life, I can’t help but think about Proverbs 31.
“Her children rise up and call her blessed…
Give her the reward of her labor,
and let her works praise her at the city gates.” (CSB)
That’s what this is.
This is her work praising her.
Not just in words…but in people.
In generations.
In a house that still lives in all of us.
If I could hear her one more time, I think she’d say something simple.
“Love on your kiddos.”
And she lived that.
Every single day.
Today was a good day, Grandmama.
And a good life.
I love you.
Beautiful testimony of a wonderful grandparent! Lasting memories and constant joy in your heart for having been part of her life and legacy! Happy Easter!
Beautiful. Your description is what all of us would aspire to be one day.