My Granny

Me and my Granny, Dorothy Mae Williams, in 1973

Me and my Granny, Dorothy Mae Williams, in 1973

On the third day of Ebony my true love gave to me…

My Granny.

When I was a little girl, I loved spending one on one time with my Granny, Dorothy Mae Williams.  Some people called her “Dot” but I wouldn’t dare call her that…to her face.  I vividly remember, saying the name SILENTLY in my mind and giggling to myself when she wasn’t looking. 

As a child I couldn’t understand the correlation between Dorothy Mae and this “Dot” person that she sometimes answered to.  As an adult, I recognized “Dot” to be the punctuation at the end of a sentence.  “Dot” is the last word.

If you knew my Granny, you know she often got the first word, the middle word, and last word…period.

During the summers I spent with my Granny, her voice was the first thing I heard in the morning and the last thing I heard at night. When I think about it, I guess you can say she was my capital letter and my period.

I was devastated when my Granny died.  I vividly remember having a nightmare the night before she passed away.  In this nightmare, someone was calling me to tell me my father had died.  I kept repeating, “Daddy? MY Daddy?” as if I was trying to confirm with the caller that they had the right person.  I woke up from that nightmare terrified, and I called to wake my Daddy up to make sure he was ok.

The next morning, I went to work, all thoughts of that horrible dream pushed from my mind.  My day was going fine until I got a call…

I remember hearing my trembling voice saying, “Granny? MY Granny?” because I couldn’t comprehend that someone would be calling me out of the blue to tell me my Granny was gone.

But it was…MY Granny.

She was gone.

Tears flooded my eyes and guilt flooded my heart. I’d just seen my Granny that past summer. She’d been smiling. She’d been so happy to see me and my children and I’d hugged her so tightly.  I had no idea it would be our last hug.  I took for granted she would always be here. 

On September 9, 2008, I forgot to call my Granny on her birthday.  I was rushing around with work and kids and other things that don’t seem so important now.  I promised myself I’d call her later, but later never came.

On October 30, 2008, she was gone.

Granny? MY Granny.

My Granny who made the best homemade ice cream in a little metal ice cream maker. 

My Granny who could never get a particular cake to rise correctly.  It always fell into an ugly gooey mess.  It was the best cake I’ve ever tasted.  Maybe that’s why it always fell.

My Granny who used to sit me between her legs on a little wooden stool and braid my hair. 

My Granny who used to sew the best quilts, make the best bags for my crayons, and use the best cuss words…words I stored in my mental Rolodex to use when I was “grown”.

She’s still with me and I don’t say that frivolously.  I know…for a fact…my Granny is the angel on my right side, whispering into my ear at the most random times. I feel her presence in my life.  I talk to her and every now and then I feel her answering.

She’s not upset with me for not calling her on her birthday.  She knows how much I love her.  Not, loved. Loved is past-tense.  I loved her then, I love her now, and I’ll love her always.

My Granny.