A Tribute

** Thank you all for your prayers. Though this has been an extremely difficult time, the Lord has answered all of my prayers, and I am blessed to be able to share this time with my family. I made it to Grandma's hospital room on Monday at noon, was able to hear her tell me that she loved me, kiss her, hold her hand, pray for her, and to cry. I spent her last night with her, making sure she was comfortable, and was there with her when she breathed her last at around 10 Tuesday morning. God has given my family and I opportunities to minister to the rest of the family, and I have been elected to write out the memories they want to share at the funeral. Thus the tribute. We are a large family: 13 chidren, 41 grandchildren, 65 great-grandchildren, and 5 great-great grandchildren, not to mention all the in-laws and friends. We expect at least 500 people at the service. She was a special lady. **

A Tribute to Marjory Pearl Paullin 10/11/1920-03/16/2010:

As I reflect on my memories from the past 28 years connected with Grandma, they intermingle with images of her life, as she described it, as well as with the stories of other family members. I can picture her as a girl, struggling to raise her brothers and sisters after her parents’ untimely death. My mind’s eye sees her as a young bride, the shy smile of hope and new beginnings on her pale lips. She was a slight woman, small in stature, but great with strength, determination, and generosity. I can see her, the young mother of 13 children, pitching baseballs in a flower-print housedress on a warm summer day, kneading bread-dough until her arms ache in the dead-cold of winter, pinning breezy bedsheets to dry on the line, her hands cracked and bleeding, and plucking out those old-time songs of joy and pain on a beat-up guitar. I can see her on those “fried chicken Sundays” creating savory meals out of what little was available. These were the days when everyone forgot their cares and laughed around the long table of faces, contentedly spooning up Mom’s creamy mashed potatoes and white gravy. I can see the humble smile as she looks on her children with love and concern, trying not to focus on what they didn’t have. I can see her brow furrowed into concentration as she patches a worn-out garment, or dripping with sweat as she lugs ten gallons of water from the spring to the stove, for washing or cooking – her waistline growing with the telltale bulge of motherhood. I can even imagine the look reproof as she chased one of her sons with the broom, scolding him for picking on his defenseless little sister.

I remember her as my vivacious and tender Grams, who always came bearing gifts, whether pears or bubble gum, she was never empty-handed. She cared for us kids when mom and dad had to work, and always took the time to read to us, make popcorn balls, take us to the lake, (though she would never go in further than her ankles because she never learned to swim!), or simply snuggle on the couch while watching Shirley Temple movies. She always made us feel loved and special. Being her granddaughter has been one of the greatest honors of my life, and she will go with me as I walk through life, because of what she has taught me and who she has helped me to become.

We all recognize that she faced insurmountable obstacles, yet, on the verge of brokenness, she smiled, hummed, and prayed her way through life’s challenges. Her legacy of love and service to others has been the fingerprint which sank deep into my heart, and the hearts of all of her family. We are kinder, gentler, more generous human beings because of her. We love each other, not because it is always easy, or because we are exactly the same, but because she taught us that everyone, no matter how hateful they may be, deserves love. We are able to forgive the faults of those close to us, not because it comes easily, but because she had immense grace to forgive, and she loved, even when she was not being loved in return. We are strong (or is it stubborn?), for in her example, we were all shown what one person is capable of overcoming, no matter the storm that is raging within the heart.

Marjory Pearl Hall Paullin did not spend her life acquiring riches or fame, however, she was one of the wealthiest people I know. She was happy, for her priorities were in the correct order: first, her faith, her family, second; all the rest was just details. Let her life be a lesson to us all. We get only one chance. She would want us to cherish every moment and make the most of our difficult situations, spending time learning to love those around us. One day, our family and friends will have to say good-bye. How will will you be remembered?


A Poem I wrote a few years ago:

Meemaw
Kristin Gillingham 2007


I called her
Saturday
to say – “I’m sorry
you’re sick.”

Breathing heavy,
like after-battle fatigue
with wheezy throat gurgles
choking time from us,
her love-sweet voice
is home to me.
It is Lawrence Welk’s dancing bubbles,
neatly peeled apples,
and rummy 500.

“I’m canning tomatoes so, if they put me in the hospital Monday –
they won’t spoil.”

She chuckles like a child
caught in the corner with a cookie
before dinner.
I scold her,
reversing three generation roles,
and laugh nervously at this
cruel joke.

My mind sees
her hands
spotted red with traces of mutilated tomato.
I remember them, know them,
soft and smooth
like favorite bedsheets worn
till the light shines through.

Now they are swollen –
aching arthritic knuckles,
skin stretched with misplaced water –
translucent like the rubber pinkness
of tight-mouthed clam tongues.

“I miss you”
she said, and,
“I need you to cut my toenails.”