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Copyright © 2008 R. V. Williams
Note from JPMD: I'm posting this for my friend Van. Meema was a really cool lady.
At times like this, as we gather to remember someone, we do our best to remember the best of that person. Often times we paint those remembered with glowing strokes, remembering fondly the best traits of the departed.
In this case, we don't need to paint with glowing strokes because Meema really was a very special person.
At times like this, as we gather to remember someone, we sometimes do so with a great deal of sadness. Often their departure seems untimely. And unfair.
In this case, we don't need sadness because Meema really did live a long and healthy life, full of wonderful friends and family.
And today we have gathered to say good-bye.
I think I must have been 6 or 7 when I was first introduced to Cenith Williams.
See, I'd known her all my life, but up until then I really thought her name was "Meema." I remember being rather stunned that she had a "real" name; the thought had never even occurred to me.
And Meema wasn't just a nickname reserved for her family. Everyone knew her as Meema.
As most of you already know, Meema was my grandmother. What many of you probably don't know is that she was the only grandparent that my siblings and I ever knew.
But just as I never knew her real name growing up, I also never realized that other kids had more than one grandparent. I don't know if she intentionally tried to make up for it by giving us kids four times the love and attention, but I can honestly say that we were blessed. She did her very best to spoil us rotten.
When you think about it, she spoiled us all - her brothers, her children, her nieces and nephews, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren, her neighbors, her fellow parishioners, her co-workers, her friends, ....
I have fond memories of going to visit her in Oklahoma.
Memories of a big house with a huge porch in front and a garden path in the back, an old gas stove that she had to light with wooden matches, and an unfinished cellar with dirt walls. And I remember a light switch in her kitchen that was mounted so low on the wall that we could reach it even when we were tiny little kids. We thought that was pretty neat.
Meema had a little black Chihuahua at the time named Lindy. That dog was shaped like a football. An over inflated football! My sister confided in me just the other day that she had no idea Lindy was a Chihuahua because Chihuahuas just aren't shaped that way.
Whenever she came home, Lindy would run out into the yard and Meema would hand one of her driving gloves to her. Lindy would run around like crazy, dragging the glove back and forth across the yard. It was very amusing. When Lindy got to ride in the car, she would sit on the top of the seat at Meema's shoulder. That was a sight.
As we grew older, Meema moved out here to be closer to us. The house was smaller, Lindy was gone, and all us kids had pretty much grown up. But that was okay: it wasn't long before Meema was known by every child in her new neighborhood. That is, every child under 50 years of age... as well as every dog... and every cat... and half the birds that happened to migrate through the area.
She just had a way... a way that seemed to put everyone—and everything—around her at ease.
Meema was very independent and self-sufficient. She was widowed early in life, but she cared for her house without any assistance. And anyone who ever saw her yards would agree, they were always beautiful.
She was always working on some sort of project. I believe her neighbor Steve first met her when she knocked on his door and asked to borrow a crowbar. She wanted to remove tile from her bathroom wall; she must have been in her 70s then.
She was also strong-willed, something that her caregivers commented on even at the very end of her life. They said she was "feisty." She wanted to do it herself, her way. When she was told that she was no longer allowed to get in and out of bed without assistance, she would try to trick us into moving her wheelchair over by her bed as we were leaving.
She would take the washcloth out of the nurse's hand when she was giving her a sponge bath.
This may have been the secret to her long and healthy life.
She traveled all over the world.
She drove cross country numerous times.
She loved the humor of Will Rogers.
She named all of her cars "Betsy."
She used to love to bowl.
She loved to play dominoes (and took the game very seriously). You couldn't leave her house without first being challenged to a "rip roaring game of dominoes" (her words).
But most of all she loved her family and friends. She loved us. She made us all feel special.
I visited Meema just a few days before her passing. Her health was failing but her spirits were just as good as ever. We held hands, we hugged, we even shared a laugh.
And it occurred to me, that even as she struggled to speak, as she struggled to be understood, she still sprinkled her words with "please" and with "thank you."
Politeness was her nature. Kindness was her nature.
I've never met another Cenith, and I don't expect I ever will. It's a unique name. Very fitting for such a unique woman.
We will all miss her, and I'm sure we will all think of her often.
Meema, thank you... for everything.
Rest well.
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