Grandma

She was born on April 26, 1910 in Russellville, in Pope County, Arkansas. Her mother died when she was very young, leaving her and her sisters to raise and care for the family, doing all the cooking and cleaning as well as helping out in the fields. She married my grandfather when she was just 16, and she soon had her own family to take care of. This was not an easy task during the Depression era of this country.
     Her name was Lucille Kathryn Coffman until she married my grandfather, John Thomas Morris. They spent 38 years together before he passed on in 1964 and she joined him in the celestial kingdom 23 years later.
 I never heard her complain about "hard times", and she didn't talk much about it unless you asked her. She would, however, be quick to tell you a funny story about herself. She was kind of quiet, and to some people she went unnoticed, a "lost edge" blending into the background. But to me she was always a highlight and I felt her presence and I still feel it today.
     My earliest memory of her is of me sitting at the kitchen table at the old mining claims with my grandfather, while "maw" made breakfast by the light of the kerosene lamps. "Paw" would pound the table, look at me and wink, and say "Old woman, this baby is hungry!" Then I would pound the table and yell, "Old woman, hungry!"

     I remember seeing the love in her eyes when I saw her. And I remember one time seeing tears and hurt in her eyes that I caused. It was about five years after my grandfather passed that I asked her what was in a trunk in the closet of her bedroom. She told me it was "just some old things", but I kept asking. Finally, with tears rolling down her cheek, she opened the trunk and took out a pair of my grandfather's shoes and showed them to me. To this day I still feel the pain of causing a wonderful woman some hurt. 
      I remember the smile on her face and the way her eyes lit up when she would give me a sketch-book. On the first of the month, when she got her Social Security check, she would buy me a red "Acadamie" sketch-book and ask me to show her my drawings. 

     As time passed, I eventually went into the Air Force and I would see her only when I came home on leave. Each time I came home, she would tell me how proud she was of me, and ask me when I was going to get a wife. Sometimes she would just sit next to me and put her hand on top of mine. 
      My last memory of her was the night I went to see her before I left for Germany. She was living with my aunt Arbie and uncle Marvin. We had all sat around and talked, or at least tried to. She sat next to me at the kitchen table and laid her hand on top of mine and said "I won't see you again!" She started to say something else, when Marvin (in his charming way) told her to not be so silly. She stopped talking and just smiled at me, with a tear in her eye. I don't know what else Marvin said because I no longer cared. My focus was on this gentle lady sitting next to me and the realization that she was correct. It would be the last time I saw her on this side of the veil. As I hugged her and said goodbye, my heart felt very heavy, and a few minutes later, on the road, I had to stop my motorcycle because I could not see through the tears.
      While I was in Germany, I received word that she had died, and although I felt sad, I did not feel a loss, because as long as I have her memory, she lives on. 

     When I see a senior citizen now, especially a lady, and I see them being treated like they are unable to understand what is going on, I remember my "maw". Although a lot of people ignore them or want to keep seniors in the shadows, they are not "lost edges" to everyone. Certainly not to those of us that love them, cherish them, and owe our very lives to them. To us, they are the highlighted edges of life.