I never met my Dad’s mother. She died of cancer when he was only around 15 (I think that’s how old he was). It’s hard for me to think of that. Hard to imagine my dad as a young boy and losing his mother. He did not have an easy life. My papaw wasn’t the nicest of men. And frankly, children just need their mama’s. Heck, grown ups need their mama’s too. I still want my mama when I’m sick or have to get a shot and that’s the honest truth. My mom probably has no idea about that.
Over the years, I have learned a lot about my grandmother, though. Our family has pretty distinct features, I guess you could say, so it happens a lot that someone will stop me and say “You’re a Teltoe, right?” And I will say yes and then they will go on to tell me about whoever it is that they know in my family. And on some occasions, someone will mention my grandmother and what a wonderful person she was. And I always pay extra close attention when this happens, trying to absorb as much information as I can about her. Always when someone speaks of her, they speak highly.
I so wish I could have known her. I wish I could have grown up having her in my life and having the kind of relationship with her that I have with my mom’s mother. I wish she could have gotten to know my girls.
I love her even though I never knew her. I think that speaks volumes to the kind of person that she was.