My dad’s parents were a constant in my life. Meme was feisty and borderline neurotic about things like cleanliness (thanks a lot for that gene, Meme! lol). She was the type who, when at a restaurant, would swear she wasn’t hungry. She’d order a simple salad and then pick at everyone’s plate the whole meal.
Grandpa was a long tall drink of water. He was an incredible musician, full of stories and wisdom. He was enormity, even when bottled into a few quaint words. In 2015, they both left their earthly place, just two months apart. It was devastating and bittersweet, yet it made complete sense that they would leave us so close together. Following is a remembrance post I made for them a few months into their decline. I hope it brings back some memories or reminds you to treasure the moments with your grandparents!
Meme’s Bells
She had a fondness for bells. Solid brass and crystal. The collection sat dormant in the music room, growing dusty as the years went by, on a shelf in my memory. There was a time when the familiar ringing of one meant it was supper time as the darkness tripped between our fingertips. My brother’s and mine. In the corner of the huge backyard where we ran wild, was a garden. Tomatoes, lettuce and the sweetest yellow squash grew with ease. Watermelon sat untouched until Grandpa said it was ready. We’d watch the bees pollinate the first flower, scar the membranes and wait impatiently for it to form the perfect fruit. Meme would gasp when we would tell her we swallowed the seeds and tell us that soon flowers and vines would grow in our bellies and out of our ears. We laughed and laughed and secretly checked our ears every night before bedtime. Four bells from Meme’s collection sit on the ledge of my headboard, given to me just this past month as my beloved grandparents left their home of 20+ years and entered an assisted living facility, minds well aware, bodies starting the unavoidable decline of life.
My little girl, in particular, rings them every so often. At first, I made her stop, feigning irritation, telling her it would wake her sleeping baby brother. I would turn and quickly wipe the tears from the corner of my eye. Transported to childhood, when my grandparents were whole and knew everything. Falling asleep in Grandpa’s lap to the sound of his pocket watch. But last night, I closed my eyes as she rang the crystal bell first and kept them closed while she made her way to the last brass colored bell – the handle, a feather. Inside of this particular bell are inscribed words:
“There is no death. Only a change of worlds. Thus goodbye doesn’t exist.”
Indeed.
Cleo Maurice Trantham & Billye Jean (Lou) Trantham, together again.
