My Grand Maw — The Making of M.O.M.

To the average person, possibly even to my own husband, these trinkets that live on top of the bookshelf in our bedroom are meaningless. They appear to be just junk, possibly some random garage sale finds or some misplaced pieces to a not-so-complete collection.

But when I glance at them I see a passageway to my childhood. These things take my mind back nearly 25 years to a place where I spent my time doing nothing and everything all at once.

Looking at those Pepsi-Cola bottles and that tiny, little teapot, I can almost taste the sweet tea that I spent hours pouring back and forth between their narrow openings. I can smell the distinct fragrance of my Maw's house. I can feel the warmth of her propane heater as I sit at her kitchen table and pour and drink, pour and drink, pour and drink for hours on end.

And that is just how I remember my Grandmother's (Maw's) house from my childhood. Warm, sweet and wonderful.

As I sit here and think about all the things I cherished about her home as a small girl, I can almost hear the music floating through her den as it played from that little, wooden music box, pictured above. I feel my body spinning through her house as I dance and sway and pretend I'm a princess or ballerina or bride.

I remember the scotch tape and cotton ball bandaids she used to make for me when I got boo boos, whether they were real or imagined. I remember her special shelf, where she kept all sorts of interesting things. Most were breakable, like the bottles and teapot above, but all were just for my tiny fingers to touch and hold and enjoy.

I remember her singing to me as I lay in the window seat of her den, the words to "Goodnight Irene" floating through my head as she stroked my hair and I fell asleep on her lap.

I remember ice cream cones from the corner ice cream shop and finally being old enough to walk there by myself and get a cone to bring home.

I remember her neighbor's woodshop, where Mr. Reisner built things from scratch. And swinging on the playset in her backyard and sitting on the stool in her bathroom and playing with her makeup.

There are so many things I remember about my Maw's house. The laughter, the love, the way it was always just there. And as I sit here with tears streaming down my face, I know that in a few days all of the things I love so much about my Grandmother could be gone.

On Monday, my Maw is scheduled to have major heart surgery. My Maw. The woman who always bandaged my boo boos and let me use all her scotch tape. The woman who held me close and mumbled songs in my ear.

Four bypasses, a new aortic valve and aortic root. Someone opening up her chest and assessing a life's worth of damage. Someone who may not ever know just how precious she is to me or how much I still need her here. Someone who may not realize that I've been so very selfish and not allowed my own children to make the same memories with her that I now hold so close.

So I ask you. From today, until late into Monday evening, will you lift up my Maw to the One who can heal all things? Will you pray with me that the Surgeon's hands will be guided by the One who created her very heart?

My Maw, that poured countless pots of tea into that tiny brown pot and endured hours of dancing and music from a tiny little music box, seems so fragile to me now. I almost want to scoop her up into my lap, stroke her hair and sing into her ear.

I want her to be able to see our new Baby born and know that 6 little faces adore her just as much as I do. And, I want our kids to dance to the music and drink sweet tea from tiny glass Pepsi bottles. I want them to have scotch tape and cotton ball bandaids and have their hair stroked. I want them to know and remember their Maw like I do.

Because lots of kids have Grandmas. But we have a Grand Maw. And that's something that should never be taken for granted.