Mema

My grandmother died this morning.

Jean Brown, but we called her Mema, or just Me--I shortened it when I was very young, and being hustled to get into a car and leave, and called out "Goodbye, Me!"

It's odd to think that when I was six, and we moved off to Virginia, that she was 48. Younger than I am now.

She had been ill for about ten days--congestive heart failure, kidney failure. She told Mom "I had a little talk with the Lord and I told him I'm ready to go."

I talked to her on Monday evening, for about a minute. "I love you." "I love you more!" "You're probably right, Mema." A couple more sentences and she was out of breath.

Mom kept watch in the room beside her, for the last few days; she called at 7:00 this morning to say "Momma has finished the race."