Gram

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Gramma Jean wasn’t technically or biologically my Gramma. Technically, biologically, she was my Grandpa’s cousin, which I suppose, would make her some sort of cousin to me (the internet says she would be my first cousin twice removed). But she was my Gram in every single way that mattered.

She always made me feel like one of her grandkids. She always seemed to be delighted to see me, in that way that only Grammas are. She would wrap me in a big hug, kiss my cheek and say “Oh Hon, how are you?!” I would say, “I’m fine Gram” and she would squeeze both my hands tight in her’s and say, “No Hon, how are you? Tell me!” Because she wasn’t just asking in that rote, automatic way that we often do, she really wanted to know. She wanted to know everything that was making me happy and everything that was making me sad because she wanted to be a part of my life. And when I lost both my biological Grandmothers within a few months of each other, Gram filled the space they left with all the love she could muster. And she could muster up a lot of love!

She came to every single one of my high school rodeos (Jhett and I are the same age and so I’m sure it was pure coincidence that he was also there, though she might have been there to watch him too). And no matter how I performed (my rodeo career was far, far less impressive than Jhett’s) she always knew what to say to make me feel like I had done just fine. That lady had to have held the world record for the most rodeos watched. Rain or shine, she would be there cheering in the stands.

She always had a twinkle in her eye and a story to tell. You couldn’t stop by for “just a minute” to say hi, you could try but you were not likely to succeed. She would say, “I know you need to run” but then she wouldn’t let go of your hand and would launch right into the next story and that scenario would repeat multiple times until you had slowly inched your way out the door and then she would stand on her step waving and shouting “Love You!” until you pulled away.

I am so grateful for the time spent on her couch, holding her hand and listening to her stories about the old days in Bates Hole (oh how I wish I had recorded her Bates Hole stories) how amazing her grandkids and great grandkids were (she ADORED her grandkids) and how she met Grandpa Jack, whom she missed terribly and now is dancing with again. I will miss those visits, those stories and those hugs.

She was a bright light and one of the warmest and kindest souls I’ve had the privilege of knowing. She left her mark on many hearts, especially mine. I love you Gram!