Our Muzzy

A week from yesterday we had the funeral for our dear Muzzy, my dad's mother, Beverly. I have been caught off guard by how deeply her passing has hurt me. That doesn't sound very nice, because I don't mean to say I didn't expect to be saddened by her death. I knew I would be very sad, but I didn't know about some of the other feelings it would bring about. But before I talk about those other feelings, I thought I would just write down some thoughts about Muzzy.

• She had a very gentle spirit. There was such a delicateness about her, and you felt like she treated everything and everyone about you with that same delicate nature.
• She loved giving to us. When we became teenagers we knew that when they began giving us cash for our birthday that she missed shopping for us. She enjoyed picking out something special for each of us kids--the real, plush Cabbage Patch dolls that she gave us girls that she and Papaw got from the Cabbage Patch General Hospital up in north Georgia--with Xavier Roberts' signature on the bottom, the Coca-Cola brand long-sleeve polos she gave us one year that catapulted us into the upper social stratosphere (or so we thought), the gigantic cookie cakes from The Great American Cookie Co. that they gave each of us that we savored and nibbled on for weeks (I mentioned these crazy, humongous cookies to Muzzy when she was in Hospice, and she smiled, and said, "We knew what a health nut your mom was and we felt a little mischevious giving those to you kids. I think Papaw kind of enjoyed it!")
• She was an amazing letter writer. She wrote us dozens of times throughout college and on into our first years of marriage. It was a loving gesture, and we always appreciated it and looked forward to her letters. Although I did sometimes write back, I now wish I'd done it a lot more often.
  
• She liked to dance. I think that if Papaw had taken her, she would've gone dancing with him every weekend. She used to boogie around a little bit if we had music on at the house when they were visiting. I love imagining her cutting a rug years ago!
• Her domestic abilities were remarkable. She vacuumed everyday, so if you ever came, you'd always see the vacuum tracks in their spotless, often white, carpet. Her entire house was always spotless. It always looked like it could be shown to a potential buyer at a moment's notice--like a showroom--which I guess was what she was accustomed to since they kind of made a habit of moving in retirement. She was a great cook--potato salad and carrot cake were her specialties, but she made lots of other great meals, too. Her chili was great, but what she loved to eat most was peanut butter toast. Papaw would also tease her about how many crackers she would go through every week. Her favorites were those Club crackers. When she bought them, she'd immediately take them out of the sleeves and put them into this special size container that held them perfectly. Papaw would joke about her being a beever going through that cracker tin so quickly.
  
• She was an artist, and I really wish she had sought ways to develop her ability even more, because you could tell she had such ability. She painted wooden ducks, and they are beautiful--great precision and detail. I'm glad I have one of them in our home. She knitted beautifully. She made an Easter dress and bonnet for Abby one year when she was just a toddler I believe. It was so pretty--cream with navy trim--such care and thought had gone into making it. She always made us beautiful afghans when we graduated from highschool--each one of us has a Muzzy original that we'll always treasure. And since the babies have arrived, she was busy making each of them their own baby blankets. With each additional blanket, we valued them more and more, because of how painful her hands were because of arthritis. She was quite a seamstriss, and I believe she helped make some halloween costumes for us sometime, and I know she made all of Dad's costumes that he wears when doing his dramatic monologues.
  
• She never learned to drive, so she was always dependent upon Papaw to get her around. Dad says that he remembers as a kid waiting in the bank parking lot with Papaw to pick her up after work, and sometimes they'd have to wait extra long if they were having a hard time balancing all of the end of the day numbers.
  
• She was beautiful. She had a classiness about her--always dressed sharply with lovely jewelry, usually with Etienne Aigner shoes and bag. And she always kept Papaw looking good, too.
  
• Muzzy smoked, but I didn't know that until I was in maybe 2nd or 3rd grade, and I never once saw her smoke, never ever smelled smoke on her (and I have a sensitive nose) never saw a picture of her with a cigarette in her hand--ever. I remember we were visiting them when they lived in Conyers, GA, and I was being the typical nosey child. While she and Mom worked on getting dinner prepared, I was walking around her large, pristine kitchen opening the droors and peeking inside. I pulled open one droor and saw a packet of cigarettes alongside a phonebook. I quickly slid the droor closed and turned around to see if she'd seen me. I don't think she did, but the rest of that visit I was so dismayed to realize that one of them or both of them smoked, because we were taught, of course, that smoking was bad for your health. When we left, I asked Mom about it, and she said that it was Muzzy who smoked, but that she didn't think she wanted us kids to know about it, because she knew it was an awful habit and she didn't want to set a bad example. I don't think she must've smoked much, because she was able to go with out smoking for long stretches, and like I said, I never smelled it on her. But ever since that day I had a strange appreciation for her desire to hide it from us, and never once did we talk with her about it.
  
• She had a witty humor--very similar to Dad's, maybe just not quite as weird. :) And she and Dad and Papaw could joke around so easily, and it was always fun to hear Muzzy getting in an occasional funny moment when Dad was being especially corny or something.
  
• She had a quiet voice. Sometimes we would joke saying that she was like the Seinfeld "Low Talker"--especially on the telephone. If you had screaming kids in the background, forget it! She just had this little gentle, silky voice and she didn't raise it very much at all.
  
• When she was in Hospice, I went to visit her, and I had such a nice visit with her. I got there on a Friday evening just before seven, and I didn't leave until 8:30, and we just talked the whole time. Muzzy had a quiet faith, so I didn't know a lot about her walk with the Lord, but I knew she was a Christian and she had faith, but I felt a burden to ask her about it, so I said to her, "I guess you talk to Jesus a lot these days, huh?" And she nodded, and I said, "You know how much that means to us, don't you? To know that you know Him and that you know He loves you and cares for you--especially through all of this--that means so much to us; it is such a comfort to us." She nodded and smiled, and there was a silence for a bit. Then she said, "I would've liked to have been there when he got his start." At first I wasn't sure to whom she was referring, but she continued, "I would've loved to have been there when Jesus first started his ministry--to have been one of his disciples." I understood what she meant, and I said, "Oh I know!" She continued, "to have seen him back then and been in the exciting first days..." I said, "I've often wondered how I would've responded to Jesus--would I have believed him or would I have been skeptical?" She said, "I know. Me too. I'd like to think I'd have followed him, but I guess I don't know if I would've doubted, but I still would've like to have been there." It was a wonderful conversation, and I just praise the Lord that he allowed us to know of her passion in her final weeks of life--her passion to have known Jesus so intimately. I know she's up there with him now, knowing him fully, seeing him fully, worshipping him fully.
  

On the evening of May 14th, Olivia's 4th birthday, Dad and Papaw held her hands and watched as the Lord took her Home. They both have said it was an incredible moment. Papaw told me that when the Hospice nurses cleaned her and prepared her to be taken out by the undertaker, they gave them a little more time with her alone, and Papaw said, "That's how I want to remember her, because she looked like an angel." I imagine she did.
Her funeral was very special. Bob Moon was the pastor, and Uncle D.Joe played the piano. Carrie Beth and Abby and I sang "Great is Thy Faithfulness" and it was such a privilege to have a part in the service. Will read scripture from Romans. Uncle D. Joe's piano playing was tremendous and just brought such a beauty to the time. Bob's words were so thoughtfully prepared. We all appreciated his memories and message.
And now, even a week since her funeral, I find myself randomly moved to tears over it all. And on top of the grief I feel over losing our dear Muzzy, I believe there is something additional that has weighed heavily on me--the growing awareness that I'm not a kid anymore, and with the first death of one of my grandparents comes the end of an era and the beginning of another. The awareness that the other three remaining are certainly closer to their ends than I would ever like to admit--it's difficult to have to face that. I know it is just simply life, but it is still painful considering losing these giants in my life. But as the song says, "...strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, blessings all mine with ten thousand beside. Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness, morning by morning, new mercies I see. All I have needed thy hand hath provided. Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me." Amen and amen.