As I drove the short three and half miles from work to Mammaw’s my mind wondered. Earlier in the day my mom, Mammaw’s daughter, told me the hospice nurse caring for Mammaw let her know that Mammaw was dying. The nurse said Mammaw could pass away tonight or ten days from now.

Knowing that, I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could. Up until now I had visited her every few days for an hour or so. Most of the time she was asleep, or in and out of sleep. But, she knew I was there which made all the difference to her.

DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME

My last visit was three days ago on Friday evening. I had dinner plans that night but wanted to make sure I got to see Mammaw even if it was for a few minutes. She was asleep when I walked into the room. I sat in her chair and quietly played Angry Birds on my phone. As I got up to leave, she awoke.

“Hey, there mister,” she said with tired voice and slowed speech.

“Hey, Mammaw, how are you doing?” I responded loudly in hopes she could hear me clearly.

She did and responded with a sarcastic whit I had grown to admire in her. About this time a nurse walked in to check on Mammaw and feed her dinner. Letting Mammaw know I was heading out to meet someone for dinner she slowly reached out her hand for me to grab it.

Holding her hand she looked up at me and through a faint voice said, “Don’t forget about me.” I smiled and assured her I wouldn’t and would be by again in a day or two. Seemingly too tired to speak anymore, she nodded her head in agreement. The nurse was ready to feed Mammaw, so I began to walk away, blowing a kiss to Mammaw as I left.

That was the last conversation I ever had with her.

SAYING GOODBYE

I walked into her room quietly, that Monday evening, as not to disturb her in case she was sleeping. She was. I could have stomped in, it wouldn’t have mattered. Her sleep was different then before. It was a deep sleep. Reality set in for me. Mammaw was dying.

My mom was sitting by the side of Mammaw’s bed. She had been here for some time, not just today, but ever since Mammaw fell just before Christmas and broke her hip. To know my mom is to know a servant. She truly is one of the most selfless people I have ever known. I wanted to see Mammaw, but I also wanted my mom to get some rest. We talked briefly and she headed home.

I sat down in the same chair I had sat in many times before. Picking up a book I was studying for a seminary class, I began to read. But my efforts were futile. I read the words, but didn’t digest one bit of information from them. My mind was elsewhere.

I was back in Miami kneeling on top of a green stool in Mammaw’s kitchen putting away dishes wearing nothing but diapers and high-heels. I was in the backyard of her house playing with a boat in their washing machine water run off. I was in Tampa showing her how I could hold my breath underwater in her apartment swimming pool. I was standing with her as she posed for a picture with me in my high school cap and gown. I was in Tallahassee watching Jeopardy with her, TV volume blasting and closed caption scrolling, as she retold a story about so and so again for the tenth time. I was humbly thanking her as she told me how proud she was of me and my desire to go into ministry.

Closing the book and slowly laying it down on her end table she’d had since I was a kid, I got up and sat next to her bed. As the memories faded, reality set back in. I was no longer in Miami or Tampa, I was now sitting beside her saying, good-bye.

The evening had faded into night and I wanted to spend a few more minutes with her before I went home. As I sat there I prayed and thanked God for Mammaw and all that she had done for me in my life and how she loved and adored my brother and me.

It was getting close to 9 p.m. By now her breathing was slow and rhythmic. I reached my right hand under her covers and gently held her left hand. I continued to pray and asked God to take her if it was His will.

Slowly rubbing the top of her hand with my thumb I heard her take a breath. I patiently waited for her to exhale. It never came.

UNFORGETTABLE

A few days later as I was preparing my thoughts for Mammaw’s funeral, I remembered the last words she ever said to me, “Don’t forget about me.” When she said those words, I thought she was being funny and telling me to visit her again, soon. But I have often wondered if she knew. If she knew this would be the last time we ever spoke.

There are many memories I have of Mammaw. Some are very detailed and others are more abstract. Like her daughter, Mammaw was a selfless person. She loved life and greatly enjoyed her family. She was kind, gentle, loving, encouraging, and caring. She enjoyed Jesus and loved to listen to her pastor preach on the radio each Sunday. I could list countless other attributes and memories about her.

A person like my Mammaw who has had such an impact on myself and others it hard to forget. Indeed, impossible.

Greg.