Until We Meet Again…

I got word last Thursday. I was making dinner for my family. My hands were immersed in hamburger (oh how I hate touching raw meat) and upon hearing the phone ring I yelled for one of the boys to get it. (You don’t instinctively answer a phone until you’re paying the bill.) When told that it was Granny (that’s what my boys call my mom), I asked if it was important and could I call her back (I never ask that). And I was told she needed to speak to me. She needed to speak to me…

I didn’t think much as I drove that night to see about my father. Frankly, I don’t know how I got there. I was, after all, tired from an exhausting day at work. And as I sat there for hours reminiscing I don’t know how I got home that night. I just did. And since that day I have just done.

Golda Beatrice Woodson was born on Monday, May 17, 1909 and died on September 18, 2014, 105 years after God brought her into the world and exactly 58 years after my Grandfather Harry Williams, passed away. Later today we will bury her. The last time I saw her was her 105^th birthday. What a day that was! I spent the greater part of an hour plus teasing her and playing bingo. Yes, bingo. Those who have seen me in action know I am quite the bingo player. My entourage and I tend to transform a monotonous event of calm letter calling into a raucous circus as we celebrate every number being called (if you aren’t a Christian you ought to “B1”) and every individual who cries out “Bingo”! You can imagine the faces of the residents when they were exposed to Bingo “Triumph Style”.  I remember the joy she had when she won.  In reality it was I who won…

It is 4:29am and I am experiencing an enormous sense of loss. With her departure a generation has now passed. I spent a lot of time with this woman. I can still hear her calling out from the kitchen, “Weldon Jr., are you out there shooting them birds?” To this day I believe she saw me kill that robin. It was the last time I would raise a gun to a living creature. I remember the automobile accident she and I were in. I remember her taking me up on the hill. (I loved the 7 Up from the soda fountain.) I remember running through the house and going through the glass screen door (how many of my cousins have done that too). I remember “The Picture” (inside cousin story) and pecans. I remember Uncle Buzz and instant death (another inside cousin story). I remember Saturday night wrestling and cards, cutting the tip of my little toe off, the old gas stove in the living room, the piano in the dining room, and the news coming from Keokuk. I remember the bowling alley, French Fries and the living room full of trophies. I remember banana cream pies, early morning radio shows in the kitchen, and cream filled cookies. Mama Goldie represented everything that was good about my childhood.

My grandmother was part of the transformation of this country. The grand daughter of a slave, she was born at a time when the common mode of transportation was a horse and buggy. Kerosene lamps illuminated her nights. News was shared by word of mouth and her world was confined to the distance one could travel in a day. Education was still viewed as a precious luxury reserved only for the privileged and she longed to matriculate in the halls that she would faithfully clean one day. She would enjoy the benefits of hard work and integrity, and as the world progressed, so did she.

In her lifetime she saw indoor plumbing and electricity come into homes,and automobiles, airplanes, and rockets expand the distance one could travel in a day. She experienced telephones with party lines (I remember the Canton party line) and eventually ones that you could carry in your pocket. She would see news come to her on a radio and then on a television and then on a computer. Children would progress from playing with rag dolls, to plastic soldiers, to video games. Food would be prepared on wood stoves, then gas ovens, then electric ovens and then microwave ovens. Young black kids would move from being hired hands to the hiring hands. And a black woman named Oprah would become one of the richest people in world and a black man named Obama would become the most powerful man in the world. She saw two World Wars, the assassinations of Kennedy, King, Malcolm and Medger. She witnessed the landing of a man on the moon, the tumbling of the Trade Centers, and the burning of Watts. She saw the flourishing of Jim Crow, the evils of the Klan, the hoses of Birmingham, and the march on Washington. She saw bras burning, suffrage granted, choice established and ceilings shattered. Movies were silent and then spoke; black and white then color. Comedy moved from black face to blue. In her life Las Vegas became a city. She saw the rise and fall of Detroit, Pan Am and Compaq. She saw the average cost of a home go from $5,000 to $200,000 and wages from $438/year to $45,000/year. She saw the birth of 7 children, 40 grand children, 15 great great grandchildren and four great great great grandchildren.

She is the stuff legends are made of…

Eleanor Roosevelt graced Culver Stockton College in 1953 and it was my grandmother who tended to her at the housemother’s quarters; that area was her responsibility.  You would never have known this.  She was that kind of person…

My Aunt Cladine tells the story of a dream my grandmother had.  In it she saw everyone on a bus – my grandfather, her mother, and those from old Steffenville who had been long gone, and they were inviting her to get on the bus with them.  My grandmother spoke of how good it was to see them and how glorious she felt.  However, she knew it was not yet time.  So she told them not now and awakened from this dream.

Well, last week the bus arrived again.  On it was Grandpa Harry and Uncle Buzz, John and Drusilla Woodson, Orville, George and Hazel, Myrtel all grown up, Larry, Harold and Richie, a slew of family members with whom she had shared her glorious life, people who loved her and she had loved;  individuals whose departure had left her heartbroken, who took a part of her when God called them from this place.  She heard their invitation.  This time, when they departed, they took with them a gem of a lady, leaving us heartbroken, taking with them a part of us.

My grandmother is gone.  My soul aches from the loss.  As David said, I cannot bring her back to me.  I will, one day, go to her.  Until then I hurt.  I hurt for my father who endures the pain with dignity.  I hurt for my aunts and uncle who too are saying goodbye to their mother.  I hurt for my cousins who have a lifetime of memories with this dear lady.  I hurt for my brother and sister who love her like I do.  But most of all I hurt for me.

Bye my beautiful silver fox.

And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.  John 16:22