SOMEWHERE NEAR OURAY, COLORADO, JUNE 1966
Left to right: Sister Stacy, Mother Peggy, Grandma, Sister Claire, and Yours Truly
Meg at Blogcabin just posted a piece about mourning for her Grandma Nonna. There's a bit of synchronicity operating here; I posted a poem dedicated to my Grandma Verna Cauthorn Pattillo (or Bat, as Uncle Jim called her) last Wednesday. The fifth anniversary of her death is tomorrow. Grandma had a curious effect on people I find hard to describe, words can't give you the feel of it; when she looked at you, she saw someone better than you; someone who was a better, kinder, more loving person than the person you knew you really were. The curious thing was that you found yourself wanting to think of yourself as the person she saw. There were things you couldn't say or do anymore, because the better person she saw just wouldn't do or say those things. You did things you wouldn't have bothered to do, because that better person would do them. I don't mean to suggest Grandma was a saint, or some sort a namby-pampy idealist with a powerful pair of rose-colored glasses. But when Grandma looked at you, you found yourself being the person that lived in her regard. The word, perhaps, is lovingkindness, she had that, and transmitted it to the people around her. People who thought they couldn't love, were kind and loving in her regard. Even the attendents at the nursing home were sad when she died. I miss her.
9:12:41 AM 
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