See Ya Later, Alligator

My mamaw was 94 years old, lived in a nursing home, suffered from dementia, and I had buried her in my mind shortly after my papaw died three years ago. She had not been lucid for a few years, but it was better when he was around. After he died, most of what was left of her died too. When I saw her last in October, all I saw was an empty shell of a woman who once was. She was certainly not the Mamaw I knew.

(Mamaw and Papaw with all the grand kids... before any of the great-grand kids came along. I'm the baby of the bunch.)

Mamaw was forgetful most of the time I knew her, but in the same way all old people are, asking if you've had enough to eat a few times. I was just a little girl, not to mention a picker eater, so my helping of butter beans and a roll was always plenty. I loved those butter beans so much, the ones that Papaw had grown and that Mamaw had perfected in the kitchen, no bean has ever compared since those days. Everyone else was most likely stuffed from all the other choices that they all deemed to be incredibly delicious. Judging from the butter beans, I'd say they were right.

(Mamaw and Papaw's 50th wedding anniversary. I was only two and don't remember any of it, but I got to see video from it a couple of years ago and it was fun.)

I can still picture their old house in my mind, the garden, the futon in the kitchen where we would all lounge and talk, the seventies color scheme in the living room with bright yellow chairs and couch and the nasty green carpet Valerie was allergic to. But it must have been close to ten years ago, give or take a few years, when concern about them living there arose. The neighborhood was no longer safe and they could not manage the house as well.
(One of my aunts, my dad, my half sister and me with Mamaw and Papaw in the backyard/garden.)

My aunt lived in Middle Tennessee before my parents and I did, and she decided to relocate them here. They lived in an apartment five minutes from her house and she checked up on them. Once we moved here, it was neat to see them again, and to see them often, after missing out for a few years because they were here and we were in either in Texas or making trips to Mississippi to see other family. We would have dinner with them at their apartment every once in a while, and it was great to actually see my grandparents on a semi-regular basis. But Mamaw's mind continued to slip throughout the years.

(The way I remember her.)

When Papaw died in August 2007, it was the beginning of the end. He had faithfully tended to her, and without him, there was nothing left. I think he was the only person she truly remembered at that point, if she actually did remember who he was. But there was definitely comfort in him, and it was gone. And that was when I accepted that Mamaw would never be in the same. She might die in 5 weeks or 5 years, but I buried her in my mind after one visit in the nursing home. Then, unplanned, I saw her last October, and I knew it was only a matter of time. She was no longer here. She needed to go Home. She finally got there, sometime late last night/early this morning. At first I did not feel even a hint of tears coming. I had mourned long ago. But then I decided to say aloud to her, "Well, see you later, alligator," the way we would say goodbye to each other so many years ago when I would leave that old house in Mississippi. That was what got to me.

(Visiting Opryland Hotel about ten years before she would move to the area.)

And if I could hear her from heaven, I believe I would hear her say, "After a while, crocodile."