a diamond treated like glass

Now for me, i'm down to 3 generations. For my son and daughter, they still have four. But not me, my granny died and may have left me, but she will always be in my heart, maybe that is why the sporadic crying existed. But yawl don’t feel me though. I remember, at least from age nine, going down either via plane or bus, to Macon, to kick it with my grand mother. My momma, although she and my birth father divorced before I was two, made sure that I spent quality time with my grandma on his side of the family. I can still remember the old house, on the Eastside of Macon, on 1109 Boone Street. Every time I was on that dirt road her house was on, I got excited. She would always take me in the kitchen and my Aunt, her daughter would give me her room for the summer and she would sleep with my grandma in that two-bedroom edifice. Instantly, she would start making me one of her citywide and well know pound cakes. And as I waited, she would always slice me up fresh cucumbers out of her garden and put them in a bowl with vinegar, salt and pepper.

My aunt ran a record shop and some days, I would spend the day with her and would always find myself playing in the back room where she had all of the black light posters. I remember it like yesterday. My mom flew down for her funeral. That is what type of woman she is. In fact that’s the kind of woman I want. Even if remarried, to respect me as such. My son’s mother is like that. Maybe that’s why the first scripture was Proverb 31 – that was indeed my granny. She made sure I had checks coming all the time, and she knew and often said about my father “That N***** aint shit.”

I mean, If my other granny died, I don’t think my birth father would be ma enough or respectful enough to do the same. You see, I never really met him until I was Junior in college. He never called, nor did he write or provide for me in all of my years. He was not at my high school graduation, nor my undergraduate or my graduations for my Master’s or PhD. He wasn’t around when my son, nor my daughter were born. He didn’t care. And now I find it strange, that he even refers to or attempts to call my son and daughter his grand children. I don’t have any bad blood, I just do not see him as that which he claims to be: my father or their grand father.

At the funeral, my mother, children and I road in the first limo with he, his wife, and daughter, and my Aunt. Now I do consider her my sister, because she loves me and shows it, and also loves my kids. They know more about her, my granny and her daughter – my aunt than they do of him. I have no more tears for my granny, for in all of her life I only saw and felt love and compassion and as a person, I never heard her complain at all. She was that humble.

In the church, she laid there, in her pink coffin, with her pink dress on, looking like the queen she was. My sister held on to me. I had to whisper in her ear not to cry, for granny was lucky to have had the greatest grand children in the world, for we made her proud. All she could do was smile, wipe her eyes and squeeze my hand tighter. While I was sitting on the front pew, I couldn’t help but remember how big the church was when I was a child. But looking at it now, it wasn’t so big at all. In fact the opposite. But it had style. On the left hand side were I was sitting, were women all in white. The minister, as my mom called him was old school. He would hum after every sentence and if it got good to him, he would extend his words in chord form, and kneel down to the ground and rise. The organ player would embellish his chants with staccato-riffed chords that seem to make his kneels to the ground longer.
But to make a long story short, it has been a long week. My granny is gone, but she lived 89 long and wonderful years. Now I have one left, and she is 87. Both of them are diamonds. They were as such, even when people treated them like glass. The first scripture they read described my grandma to a tee – Proverbs 31. However, her favorite scripture was Psalms 37. And we all know how the first lines read:

“Fret not yourself because of the wicked,
Be not envious of wrongdoers!
For they will soon fade like the grass
And wither like the green herb.”

Yep, grandma Hazel, like my grandma Virgie are diamonds, and remained diamonds, even when other treated them like glass.