A Different Sort of Elegance

You don’t look as elegant as you did last night

–Mamaw, commenting on how I looked dressed for the range as opposed to my costume party attire

This from the most dignified bald woman I’d ever met.  You see, chemo took her hair, but she didn’t feel she needed to hide that fact.  She had what looked to be very interesting sculptures of a woman’s face in her dining room.  Turns out, they were radiation masks.  Most people get rid of them.  She hung them on the wall for all to see. Cancer’s a real bitch.

She’d never met me or my family when she invited us into her home.  Unfortunately, I only had the one opportunity to meet and chat with her. That is, until we meet again on the other side.  Where I am sure to find her with the crassest bunch of story tellers cackling her head off.  Bet my Granddad is in that group.

Mamaw wasn’t the sort of woman who was comfortable in what many would consider ‘polite company.’ Although, I’d bet she’d agree with my calculation that it’s really not polite to blow smoke up someone’s ass and then gossip about them later.  No, she’d prefer you cut to the chase and tell her how you really feel.  As someone with a poorly functioning filter, I appreciate that quality in a person.

Heh.  And she called me ‘elegant.’  That’s one of the better compliments I could get. Particularly considering the source, I know she really meant it.

She’s earned her rest and her crown.  I only regret that I didn’t have the opportunity to know her better. My prayers go out to her family.  Yes, everyone knew it was coming, but that doesn’t fill the void.  Please, go and offer your condolences, and if you are so inclined, make a donation in her name.

 

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