My maternal grandmother was a pill.  An avid fan of sarcastic remarks that teetered on hurting your feelings, she wasn’t especially known for her tenderness and affection.  At my cousin’s high school graduation, I turned around in the stands and looked up at her and said “Barbara Jean, I love you!” She swatted my head with the program and said “Shut up and turn around!”

I adored her.

She was a bit of an old curmudgeon and always had some sort of ailment pestering her and causing an array of complaints. However, under the salty exterior, there was a heart of gold.  I think Barbara Jean had a difficult time showing her affection and love.  She grew up in a poor home with a stern mother and an (as legend would tell) even sterner grandmother.  Growing up in the rural south during the Depression probably added more grit than sugar to her personality.  Truth be told, her favorite Christmas present of all time came in the form of a handful of scratch-offs.

Explaining my beloved Barbara Jean was a task of its own.  Most of my friends couldn’t believe that I had a grandmother who was more of a pill/hot-mess than a sweet little old lady.  Especially considering my mother is extremely polite and a good, southern, Baptist woman.  However, one fine July morning in 2010, I received a voice message that validated the woman that I adored.

My friends and I had gone to Ft. Walton Beach, FL to visit a mutual friend/beach-it.  Barbara Jean called me at the ungodly hour of 7:00 a.m. and left the following message:

“Misti. It’s Mamaw*.  You need to get up. Get out on the sand, hunt a man. Bye.”

The tone of her voice clinched it.  She had a low voice for a woman and a particular southern drawl to the words “sand” and “man.”  Note the lack of an “I love you.”  Barbara Jean ain’t got no time for that.  However, the fact that she called was her own way of saying “I’m thinking about you. I love you. Be safe.” all rolled into one.

Barbara Jean passed away in 2014 from a sudden heart attack.  She had lung cancer, but thankfully did not suffer.  She was taken from this world quickly and I have days where I long to hear her laugh (usually at my own cost) or hear her complain, or taste her fried chicken and banana pudding.  She had her flaws, but God knows she loved us in her own unique way.  I miss her more than I can express and yet, I am comforted knowing that I will see her again in His Kingdom.

 

*Like I could ever call her “Mamaw” after the age of 12.  She was not a sweet little old bitty — she was 100% my Barbara Jean.