I got the phone call at 11:45 last night. My grandmother, Mimi, had passed.
Mimi and I lived in separate states all of my life. But though I only got to see her a couple of times each year, I treasure the memories created in those visits.
Mimi redefined “Momma Bear”. She fretted over and protected her children and grandchildren with such love. My mother told me that when I was a little girl, Mimi did not want me to play with helium balloons because it might pop in my face and knock out my breath. That gives you an idea of her level of caution. So imagine her heartache when she kept me for an overnight visit as a toddler and I got my first black eye. It was the 70’s, so the beaded curtains in the doorway were still popular. I liked to run back and forth through them. On my 800th trip through that doorway, no doubt faster than the others, and certainly with giggles, I danced through the beads and then hit a table full force. Mimi was devastated, but I was just fine.
My grandparents were jewelers, owners of Gene’s Fine Jewelers in New Mexico. But we called it the Oh Wow Store. I would walk slowly, my child eyes wide open, past each display case, saying, “Oh wow!” at the sparkling gems. Visits to Mimi’s house meant for me fun days at the Oh Wow Store, where I felt extra special because I was allowed behind the scenes. It meant splashing in her backyard pool (30 minutes after eating of course). And later, after she’d retired and moved to a smaller house, it meant spending time with her looking at her meticulously kept photo albums, playing her with her two beloved toy poodles, Bonnie and Beau, and reliving the memories of years past.
In the last couple of years, the gentle confusion of old age became the destructive theft of dementia. Mimi declined sharply at times. At first she just lost words and her ability to express her thoughts. Then the more recent memories started to fall away. People’s names, relationships to her were lost. Her adored pups, who now lived with my aunt, and who never forgot their momma when she visited, were just dogs to her, unrecognized. Eventually, she stopped talking as her decline continued. My last visit to New Mexico was last year. I took Erica with me. I wanted her to meet Mimi, even though I knew neither of them would remember it later. Even without the understanding that this baby was her great grandchild, Mimi enjoyed every second of her time with Erica. The smiles from both, the delightful bond beyond cognitive understanding, were such a blessing. During our visit, as Erica toddled happily between Mimi and the other residents with whom she lived in an extended-care home, one of the nurses whispered to me, “This is better than a puppy!” How thankful I am for that memory of Erica and Mimi laughing together.
My grandfather and Mimi’s husband, Gebby, died in 1987. I was 15. During the service, I was standing next to Mimi at Gebby’s casket. She touched his hands and leaned forward to kiss his face. She said, “So long my love. I’ll see you soon.” I’ve never forgotten that farewell. Twenty-one years later, “soon” is here.
Mimi loved her family. She loved her children, grandchildren, her friends, her neighbors. She loved the Lord. After I hung up the phone last night, I sat on the steps with Chris next to me and cried. Through the sadness of goodbye, my heart felt comfort in hello, at the thought of Mimi’s reunion with Gebby, her mother, her sister, and my mother, and many other beloved souls from her life. She must have had such a joyous welcome in Heaven!
Godspeed Mary Amelia Gebhardt. Mimi. I love you.
I expect to be on a plane soon to New Mexico to be with my family for her memorial. Some of you are waiting on sneak peeks, session presentations, and order deliveries in the next week. I beg of your patience for these next few days as I must put work on hold. Thank you in advance for your understanding.
