Nana: Words I Shared at my Grandmother’s Funeral Service

170Thelma Mae Stockdale, my maternal grandmother who we grandchildren lovingly called Nana, was born March 12, 1927 at 7 a.m. in her grandmother’s house on Port Catto Road in Marshall, Texas.

 

Nana came into this world at a very different time from today. She was born a daughter to Addie Pearl and James Brown and a sister to her big brothers JT and Charlie. As she grew up she formed friendships. She later became wife of Dr. Rider Stockdale of Jasper where she settled down and became mother to Prissy, Becky, and Richard. It was raising her children in Jasper where she formed deep bonds with friends that have lasted her lifetime. She formed deep relationships through parties she and Rider attended or hosted, her children’s friends who she always had open doors for, fishing on the lake or river, and her Bridge groups that kept her entertained.

 

I of course knew her best in her years living in Beaumont and later in Sour Lake with my parents. My memories are vast so I’ll try my best to share some that give insight into the love she had for life, her family, and friends.

 

As a child and even into my early adult years I loved greeting Nana. Her hugs were so full of warmth and sincerity. The embrace always included both arms being stretch fully around one another and my face nuzzled into her shoulder comfortably so that I could catch the scent of her perfume, fresh make-up, and crisp clothes. She was a woman whose hair was always fixed, red lipstick applied, and adorned in the latest fashion for her season of life. She was stunning – mostly her wide smile in her bright red or coral lipstick which complimented her bright red hair.

 

I remember a time sitting around her round kitchen table as she listened to country music on the radio and played a game of solitaire (which she of course taught me to play as well), that she informed me she had always been embarrassed as a child that she had one brown eye and one blue eye. I remember being shocked. My confident, candid grandmother had been unsure at a time. It was just like her to state something so matter-of-fact but then expand on how she overcame this insecurity and it became something she was very proud of as a young adult. This has always stuck with me. She was always full of stories. Once I got past the great detail in which she shared her stories, my interpretation of her stories were always about an experience she overcame or wanted to share to relate. I loved this about her. She was so forthright about many of her experiences – from the hardships of losing her husband and brother to the lighter-good times of road trips and social life with her friend Lea.

 

She was generous too. Whether it was simple like bringing chicken salad to the latest bridge tournament or gifting her children and grandchildren with something of greater expense or time. She was always willing to help and loved seeing others enjoy what she could provide.

 

She loved taking trips with her own grown children, more recently – Alaska, the Caribbean, and Hawaii. She loved reminiscing about past trips.

 

She was a fierce competitor. She was a Life Master in Bridge. Every holiday gathering she would play a game of 42. And she loved to win. Her favorite thing to win at was the penny slot machines in Louisiana. Let me tell you what game wasn’t quite competitive enough for her – my mother’s bunco groups. But she still enjoyed the social aspect and would fill in as a sub when needed. I know my mother’s friends loved having Nana play with them.

 

She loved to have something to look forward – her trips, her grandchildren’s graduations and weddings, and later the arrival of great grandchildren. She confided in my sister-in-law, that she was the only one of all of her friends without great grandchildren. Well within months of saying this she went from gaining her first great grandchild to in five years having nine great grandchildren.

 

Greatgrandchildren meeting their Great Grandparents is special. All boys and one girl. My boys on occasion would speak with her on the phone over one of our weekly calls. She would laugh at their gibberish conversations. Her laugh was always the best. They would play at her feet with toys. She never hesitated to inform me when she was ready for some quiet time. Although her Great-grandchildren are young, they have been impressed by her. Ivan informed Becky that she better, “text God and let Him know that He better have games ready in Heaven.”

 

The past year we were so thankful for the love and attention Nana received at Timber Ridge Nursing home. The staff was so kind and it was always so welcoming. She enjoyed being social and Timber Ridge always had activities and events. She was able to be with some of her acquaintances and friends from when she lived in Jasper.

 

She always had a book nearby, a puzzle going on the card table, a cold drink in the fridge, and an open door. I love and will dearly miss her spirit, laugh, stories, and laid back nature to enjoy a good time. My favorite times with her were at Lake Sam Rayburn as a small child – shelling peas under the carport or hanging out on the water. She was at home in her beloved lake house that she and Rider moved from the river to the lake. The home where they were care-free and saw many generations enjoy. Her own kids’ childhood slumber parties, sorority parties, holiday parties, and family reunion parties. Now she is finally home with her father, mother, brothers, husband and best friend. I am sure they all welcomed her Saturday evening with a great celebration because this is what she loved – cherishing special times with all of those she loved and cared for most.

The Juxtaposition of Motherhood

A-frame fold, knees bent –  not entirely on the floor so that I’m squatting in the most perfect way that makes running while my feet are grounded, butt in air, and hands are on ground with a Clorox wipe vigorously scrubbing the floor. This would be the second time over that I’ve done this maneuver in an effort to clear the trail of human feces that came from one of my children, which began in our dining room, under the table, on the furthest side away from the nearest bathroom.

This was the scene just this evening, the eve of “Mother’s Day.”

I often laugh to myself at the most random times thinking about the baby showers you go to and the fun little games or notes that ask for ‘advice’ on being a mother. There are so many trite phrases, catch phrases, common phrases, hokey phrases, and even cliché that are offered in times like this. They all are perfect. They are all meaningful. They are all misunderstood until you experience motherhood.

I didn’t even gag as I scooped the poop along the trail, cleaned the brown runny mess down my son’s leg, quickly changed his dirty clothes out for clean undies, and pristinely scrubbed his shorts, him, and myself among the unpleasant stench that filled the narrow bathroom in which this scene unfolded.

That is motherhood.

Don’t get me wrong, I have definitely gagged during some mommy moments, but more frequently than not, the mommy-super-gene kicks in and takes over to make the unimaginable conquerable.

From burping up the milk my sweet infant just drank all over me to projectile vomiting it in a manner that only seems like something made for the movies, it’s all manageable as a mother.

The sleepless nights.

The constant change in schedules.

The energy to keep up.

The change in food preference.

The monitoring of sugar intake.

The teaching manners.

The reading of the same book for 13 days in a row.

The stress of boo-boos.

The redirecting when, well always ….

The temper tantrums.

The judgement of others just by the look in their eyes when you handle said temper tantrums.

The battle over getting dressed and out the door on time.

The worry over whether you introduced too mature of cartoons too soon.

The guilt of being away while at work.

The shame of wishing you were away when you are with them.

The exhaustion of a busy day.

 

This list is not all that motherhood is. This list is only one side of a coin. Motherhood is a juxtaposition. For all the things that seem just awful, horrible, and unimaginable, there is an opposite list that goes on infinitely.

 

The sweet night time cuddles.

The warmth of morning snuggles.

The evolution of one’s self to becoming more adaptable and flexible.

The precious time spent well.

The experience of new tastes on a child’s face – the first try at peas, a lemon, sour candy, ice-cream, or cake.

The consciousness of learning how important health is when you have someone to live for.

The memorization of books leading to a love a language to express their emotions, desires, and opinions.

The kissing, cuddles, and gentleness in caring for bruises, cuts, and scratches.

The lessons in distraction and creativity making you feel like a mastermind of human psychology.

The patience you can experience when you free yourself of control.

The grace and empathy you can provide to others because of your experience.

The joy of seeing your child gain independence in the selection of their clothes that will one day lead to greater choices.

The funny moments when your kid quotes a movie line at an appropriate moment but at the wrong time.

The ability to provide a secure and stable life.

The pleasure you feel when you get to experience all the little moments that add up to the big ones.

The satisfaction in being present, vulnerable, and simply there for your children.

That is motherhood.

I would not trade being a mom for anything. With each day that I experience motherhood, I appreciate my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and mother-in-law more. My journey is just beginning as my boys are five and four. I know that the juxtaposition of motherhood will continue. I also know that the horrible moments don’t compare to that of the wonderful ones.

And thus, is my sage advice for an expecting mother, embrace the mess of it and savor the sweet blessings it brings. There are no words that can prepare or reveal all that motherhood is and has to offer.095