I like to ponder. Always have. In fact, I probably think too much. I hate to take something at face-value. Instead, I can analyze a thing to death. I question. I prod. I pry. I wonder.
My most recent and persistent obsessive thoughts have been centered around my Granny. I adamantly believe that a person can’t truly know themselves unless they first know where they came from. And I wish I’d known her better.
Don’t get me wrong, as a child, I was Granny’s girl. I was her shadow, and spent the night with her every chance I could. I have an assortment of memories of her, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
I was only ten when Granny died of cancer. She was 65. So we were only together a fraction of each others’ lives, and to an extent, she’s a mystery to me.
I know she moved from the small coal mining community of Cane Brake, West Virginia to Virginia to live with her friend Gladys, and find work when she was in her early 20’s. That was in the 1940’s. But the question that flip flops in my mind is why did she move?
Was her family, my family, in such a financial bind that she had no choice? Or was she a young woman in search of an adventure, aching to see the world beyond the hills she’d grown up in? That’s the scenario I like best. The way I picture it. Shaking the coal dust off her shoes as she stepped into a brand new life.
I’m proud to be the granddaughter of such a brave woman, and I can only imagine what Granny was thinking and feeling when she left her home. She had to be afraid, and excited.
She and Gladys worked in a factory that was new at the time, but is still one of the top employers in my county today. They lived in an apartment above the local Motor Supply store, and some time shortly thereafter, she met my Pawpaw and they married.
This is where I want details. How did they meet? What did she think of him?
I’m sure she was taken with Pawpaw at first sight. He was tall and handsome. I’ve seen pictures. I can imagine him now, his clothes freshly pressed, his jet black hair slicked back with Brylcreem. And he was such a smooth talker.
I just know he swept her off her feet. I’ve imagined countless scenarios, some I’ve even written some down. My Granny has been the most interesting and complex heroine I’ve ever had.
Granny really didn’t move very far, but I know her new home was a far cry from what she was accustomed to. She moved to a county in Virginia that borders the West Virginia state line, and as a kid, I spent many weekends traveling with Granny and my family along those curvy West Virginia roads to visit our family in Cane Brake.
And it was a different world. Even as a kid, I knew that. A dying coal town, with little houses lined up along the hillsides, their exteriors bearing the scars of time and hard mountain winters. The creek snaked its way through the mountains, carrying with it the stench of sulphur from the mines. The hollow itself, a delicate mixture of decaying tradition, beauty, happiness and sadness rolled into one complex tapestry, was so breathtaking it could break your heart.
But the people were the real treasure. Miners and wives of miners, they were kind, hardworking and tough. Rugged yet resourceful. Poor but happy. A family legacy to be proud of.
That I am proud of.
When you’re a child, you think adults have all the answers, and when you grow up, you will too. Well listen up kids; the wool has been pulled over your eyes. That’s just a tall tale we grownups use to make you listen to us. I have more questions now, than ever. But you should pay close attention to your elders. One of these days, you’ll wish they were around to answer your questions.
Now, I think of what an amazing person Granny was. How she impacted my life in such a huge way that even 25 years after her passing, she’s often on my mind. Only an inspirational person can leave such a lasting impression on a child.
One time, when I was spending the night with Granny, she made up a place for me to sleep on her couch. She said I was getting big enough to start sleeping by myself instead of in bed with her. She was toughening me up.
She kissed me goodnight and walked over to turn off the lamp.
“Granny, can you leave the light on?” I asked hopefully. “I’m scared of the dark.”
I’ll never forget what she said.
“I’d be more scared of the light if I were you. If something was going to get me, I’d be more afraid if I saw it coming.”
Now, as a woman, I wish I could speak with Granny as an adult, but I have a feeling she’d tell me the exact same thing. Don’t be afraid of the unknown. She wasn’t, and I’m here because of it.