I'll Always Love You

When my Papaw died, I wrote a blog post in remembrance of him entitled "Minty Memories." My Gram told me that when she missed him and wanted to remember him, she would pull up that post and cry. She died Thursday, April 27... three years to the day that Papaw entered eternal life. Now I write for her. So when I miss her and want to remember her, I'll pull up this post and cry.

My Gram was the strongest woman I knew. She was full of laughter and love. We used to call her the Energizer Bunny, especially around Christmas time. When we'd visit, she'd flit to and fro serving everyone and making sure everyone's needs were met. Love, in Gram's eyes, meant always asking if I wanted a cup of coffee, and always keeping that cup full.

She kept my cup full in a lot of ways. And some of those ways I'm not sure I'll ever fully understand the depths of what she did. She loved me. Enough to hold me to a high standard because she wanted the best for me. She wasn't afraid to tell me if I'd disappointed her; not out of cruelty mind you, but out of loving me so much that she wanted a good life for me. She always wanted me well taken care of.

My favorite memory of Gram is actually a moment that would probably surprise her if I'd told her of it. It was the night I came out to her. She grew up in rural East Tennessee, and held many stereotypical beliefs for her era and region. She and I vehemently disagreed on politics and even some issues of religion. So to say I was terrified to tell her I was gay would be an understatement. I rehearsed in the mirror for hours before. I was convinced I was going to be disowned, and I had a sinking feeling that this would be the last time I would see my Gram.

I remember our strained small talk while I worked up my nerve that night in the den. She sat in her blue chair, legs crossed and one hand resting lightly against her cheek. Finally, I blurted out, "Well I wanted to talk to you about something!" I launched into my rehearsed script. I honestly don't remember much of what I said. (I may have blacked out a bit!) Soon enough, hot, wet tears started rolling down my cheeks. This was it. The yelling, the accusations, the hate... it would all start soon. I finished, and suddenly the room was thick with silence. She stared off into nothing, and that ongoing silence threatened to consume me.

Bobbie Thomas Harville - 1952

Then, amazingly, she turned those beautiful, loving brown eyes on me. And she said the words I'll remember for the rest of my life. "Well. I'm old," she said, "so I don't really understand that. But I'll always love you."

I broke. I laughed and sobbed at the same time, trying in vain to play it cool. She was so nonchalant about arguably one of the most influential moments of my life. She loved me. That never, not once, was in question. And she would keep on loving me without question.

When I stood by her hospice bedside a few short weeks ago, holding the hand of the shell of a woman she once was, I felt those same hot, wet tears roll down my cheeks. Gram will always have my heart. She taught me so much. To be fierce. To take care of others. To be an advocate for people, especially people who can't advocate for themselves. In short, she taught me what love is like.

Today, hold close those beautiful people who choose to love you. Who may disagree and fight with you and even sometimes pester the living daylights out of you. But at the end of the day always come back saying, "But I'll always love you."

Here's to you, Gram. You've made me better for knowing you and being loved by you. I'll always love you.