Mama Grand

My maternal grandma, Big Mama we called her, died 19 years ago. We had many conversations, Big Mama and me. Mostly they were of the "go fetch" variety, as in, "go fetch me a swalla o water, gal" but once in a while more was covered.

Only once did I bring just a swallow. My grandma drank heaping mugs of water. When she said "swalla" she meant to fill her favorite mug to the brim with ice cold water.

I still have that mug.

As is usually the case when someone dies there are things you wished you'd told them, had a chance to tell them. It occurs to me that I'd never told Big Mama that I loved her. Of course she never said those words to me either. She wasn't that type, but I knew she did and I presume she knew I loved her as well.

In the years since her death I found myself trying to recall our last vocal exchange and I just can't bring it forth. It was likely something inconsequential. Or perhaps having to do with plants as by that time I was into house plants and she was quite the guru when it came to keeping greenery indoors.

During my recent illiness my imagination ran a bit wild. I found myself fantasizing thinking about all kinds of things. Big Mama flitted across my mind and I found myself fabricating an exchange with her. It went something like this:

Me: Big Mama, why Gunsmoke?

Big Mama: Miss Kitty. Now go fetch me a swalla o water, gal.