Remembering Mama

My grandmother, Annie "Marie" Henley, died on December 28, 2007 at the age of 92. The following is what I read at her funeral yesterday.

Please forgive me if I struggle with this – it is going to be difficult.

Several family members asked me to mention things they wanted to express today. I’ve done my best to include it all. On my way here, I realized just what an impossible task I’d volunteered for in agreeing to speak today. Words are clumsy and insufficient when it comes to expressing the depth of our love for Marie Henley. Since I always knew her as Mama, that’s what I’ll call her today. I hope what I have to say will help convey in some way how we all felt about her.

Fortunately, I had some help. I’ll start with a poem written in honor of Mama by her grand-son-in-law Gerald Flores, Sheri's husband.

All she ever meant was good.
So special a smile.
A beautiful lady, inside and out.
Selfless love for all of us.
Holding her hand, not letting go.
She made us laugh.
She gave us the warm feeling of hot chocolate on a cold day.
We keep that feeling and never let it go away.
Now everything is bearable for her, no pain.
And all that she feels is tranquility, watching us from above.
She is perfect, as always.
We will always miss you.
We will always love you.

When I thought about standing up here and doing this, I realized it wasn’t going to be easy, but the wonderful woman we are here to remember today stepped forward in difficult times for me.

Although a genealogy chart will tell you that Annie Marie Henley is my grandmother, she was so much more than that to me. She was the mother figure that my birth mother couldn’t be. When I was 4 and-a-half years old, she stepped up to take care of me for two years when my parents divorced. Divorce can be hard on kids – especially young kids. Mama made those years two of the best of my life.

I’m sure her kids - Frances, Gerald and my Dad Earl - will tell you that she spoiled her grandkids, and I can’t argue with that. But she did have to be stern with us sometimes, and there were some difficult things she had to do. In her later years, she would retell the story of taking care of my childhood nosebleeds. The doctor instructed her to use a Q-tip and apply mentholatum to the inside of my nose. Now I shudder today at the thought, and I wouldn’t voluntarily go near a bottle of that stuff if I had pneumonia, but it isn’t the traumatic memory from childhood that she thought it was. I think it was one of her worst memories – having to do that to her young grandson every night. She probably felt like she was torturing me. But I don’t remember it that way. As much as I hated that Mentholatum, there was never any doubt in my young mind that my Mama would never do anything to hurt me. She had an amazing way of making us feel loved, even in the worst of times.

I haven’t told a lot of people this story, but today is the right day for it. When I was in elementary school, at the end of the summer, I used to sneak into my bedroom and cry on the Sunday before school started. It wasn’t because I hated school. I was a bit of a geek, so I enjoyed school. I cried because I wasn’t going to be able to go to Mama’s house every day anymore. Those summers that the grandkids – Teresa, Sheri and I - spent at Mama’s were truly some of the best times in my life. Her home was so warm and welcoming, there was no doubt whatsoever that we were loved when we kids were with her. I was even secretly excited when I came down with the chicken pox in third grade and got to stay with her for a week. I’ll be Teresa and Sheri have similar stories to tell. To this day, I think of her when I’m at home sick, wishing she were there to take care of me.

Mama made sure her 3 children, 3 grand children and 6 great grand children felt loved. She spent part of her childhood in Buckner Children’s Home, separated from her siblings when her mother died. Back then, she must have resolved that she was going to dedicate herself to family, because despite that difficult beginning, she was the quintessential matriarch. Everything she said and did had a way of making all of us feel loved and important. No matter how tough life was, I always knew that my Mama loved me. There is no greater gift to give a child than that sort of confidence as they face a world full of challenges.

All who knew her late in her life knew that Mama loved to dance. Papa – you’ve had almost 20 years to practice, so you better be ready! I just know she’s ready to cut a rug with you.

Isn’t it ironic that her favorite song was “Don’t Worry About Me.” As we sit here today, the name of that song takes on a different meaning. I know she wouldn’t want us to worry about her anymore. Rather than mourning our loss, we should celebrate everything that she was and everything she taught us to be.

Her dancing buddies told me yesterday that she went up to hug the singer who played her favorite song at the rec center. That didn’t surprise. Mama didn’t know a stranger, and she was everyone’s friend. I believe that every life she touched was better for it.

When she visited my new home a few years ago, she was already struggling to get around with her walker and her memory was beginning to fail her. She couldn’t dance anymore, but she still had that magical way of making those around her feel wonderful. She could do it with a glance or a phrase. While she was sitting on our couch, I brought over Newt, our little tabby kitten, to meet her. Now I knew Mama wasn’t a cat lover. She in particular didn’t like when cats would wrap their tails around her leg. But when I sat down next to her with Newt, she reached over to pet her. She said, “If you love Danny, then I love you, little one.”

I don’t think anyone that knew her would doubt her tremendous capacity to love. In some ways, it is amazing that her heart - a heart that worked so hard loving so many so much for so many years - lasted as long as it did. But after 92 years of being the most selfless, generous, kind and loving human being I’ve ever known, her heart did finally give out. She used up every ounce of strength her heart had and in the process left a legacy of love that will live on far longer than her physical body could.

It breaks my heart that her 7th great grandchild won’t have the chance to meet her next summer, but our baby will know about great grandma. Her great grandkids - Ashley, Jordyn, Brianna, McKenna, Lilly and Cailee – I expect you all to tell my baby all about your Mama! And I will do my best to learn from what my Mama taught me about filling a home with love and warmth. It is now our job to make sure that her legacy will live on through all of her great grandchildren.

When she passed away on Friday night, she was surrounded by her family. As we all tried to come to grips with the loss, my Dad turned to me and said, “Now she gets her wings.”

Actually, I think she always had them.