Christine

Twenty-four hours ago I received word that the third of the three most important women from my childhood had died. It was not unexpected news. My grandmother's health had been fading for years but like the rest of her life she soldiered on. The three women, my mother and her my mother along with my father's mother, helped to form the person I became. From my mother, I learned what it means to be loved and she died five years ago this month. From her mother, I learned that my brain was important and that I should exercise it and she died a little over thirteen years ago. From my dad's mom, I learned that humble people know more than we think. Since I grew up with my mother and my Grandma Thompson in the house and my Grandma Good two doors down, their imprint is significant.

Christine was the last one standing. She had told me almost thirty-two years ago that she was ready to die. She said that she had lived a good life and that she wanted to go home to Jesus. For a ten year old boy scared to death to die, the comment struck me hard. I teased her then and continued to tease her for the next three decades that since she was the only person I knew ready to die then she would live to one hundred. She would laugh and say, "no, I don't want to." In late January she celebrated her ninety-six birthday. I was almost right, Grandma. Someone commented recently that they had never known a person who so thoroughly enjoyed life as she did. She giggled with her nieces, even when all of them were well into their seventies. She would play penny poker with her boys and their boys (but only if we agreed to put the money back in the penny jar; she was a Baptist after all) and then would feign like she did not know whether her hand was any good (we learned to fold because it usually meant she had an impressive hand). We had our rough moments too, but like most memories those while defining did not define my grandmother. I am where I am today in part because she opened me to a world she cared little to understand but realized that it was important for me to see as much and do as much as possible. The sweet young woman who left Nashville with the man she loved to build a family and follow his restless heart saw more of the world than most of her kin and in the process grounded her brood in ways that we do not fully understand. Go in peace, Grandma; Henry your sweet Christine has come home (on Valentine's day no less).