Ordinary days | What we pass on

My maternal grandmother, Mema, would have been 90 at the end of August, but she passed away in June. After the funeral, I along with several family members went to the house that Mema shared with my aunt to go through her belongings. 

She had pared down a lot over the years, especially after her husband, my Papa, died in 2008, but there was still so much to go through. What was once a whole life — two whole lives — was now reduced to items in boxes and assorted pieces of furniture. We found Papa’s wooden mallet he used to distress his handmade tables and benches. Mema’s white milk-glass vases. An old copper kerosene can and a collection of pins and needles. 

These were items that held great importance to my grandparents, but now, a small group of us stood around wondering what exactly we should do with so many odds and ends that no longer really fit anywhere. 

All this sorting and organizing made me realize that what we really give our kids — and to other people around us — is not our things, but what’s in our hearts, and how we make people feel when they’re with us. The tangible items we surround ourselves with don’t mean near as much as those characteristics, quirks, and deep beliefs we pass on to others. 

Some of my favorite memories involve the nights I’d spend at Mema and Papa’s house. After dinner, I’d sit with Mema in her chair while she watched “Dallas” or “Golden Girls” and filed her fingernails. I remember her hands as being so soft. Those soft hands remind me to be gentle with my children, a soothing touch even when an angry or impatient word would be easier. 

Papa’s easygoing, unruffled demeanor reminds me to stay calm in the midst of storms, trusting in the Lord’s provision and timing. Their old country home was full to the brim, not with magazine-worthy décor or pricy antiques, but with love and comfort and safety. 

As we go through our days, trying not to be too frantic, but always to some degree wrapped up in the desire to accumulate more and better things, my Mema and Papa serve as a reminder for me to focus on the slow, the genuine, the heartfelt. A simple peach cobbler made by steady, soft hands. A quiet word that soothes a fiery temper. Unhurried time with people I love.

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