Memories (College)

Your Daddy was born in Leicester, England.
When he was nine years old, he came to the United States.
His family settled somewhere in the Midwest.
Your mother’s maiden name was Connelly.
She was born in Wyoming above a Hardware Store.
She was a first grade teacher until she married.
She was a violinist, a seam-stress, and a jewelry maker.
He was a fine artist and a university professor.
He never thought he was a very good artist, but he was good!
He had art exhibits in New York and New Jersey.
He never enjoyed doing the same style over and over again.
You moved around a lot when you were younger.
You went from Illinois to Tennessee to Indiana to Mississippi to New York and to New Jersey.
You met friends, but you had to leave before the school year came to an end.
You would’ve had an older sister, but your mother had a miscarriage.
Your mother saved everything.
She made recital gowns for you.
She named your father’s paintings.
He’d come up from the basement and show you his new creations.
It was the 1950s.
Your parents had all-night cocktail parties and you were left home with a boring baby-sitter.
You had a stoic high-tempered Grandfather who told you the right way to eat your eggs, sip your tea, and be a lady.
He was an Episcopalian priest.
He was known as an eloquent speaker.
Your five-foot, plump, and gentle Grandmother Neal smoothed over his mistakes with her velvet fingers.
If Grandfather Neal couldn’t get along with the Church,
Your Grandmother would lightly touch his hand and say: “Come, John, Take a walk with me.”
Your grandparents were coming to visit you
And before their arrival, they got hit head-on by a truck driver that dozed off and drifted into their lane.
Your Grandmother’s face was disfigured and bandaged.
You could hardly recognise her.
She died and your Grandfather Neal lived longer, but he couldn’t go on without her.
The day after she died, he had a vision of her in his room.
You’re like your mother.
You play her violin.
You wear her jewelry.
You cook her recipes so others may have a taste of the past.
You put home movies on and your mother becomes the favorite movie star.
She has elegance, sophistication, and beauty.
She has a gentle, caring, and supportive nature.
Viewers are reminded of Katherine Hepburn when they see her charming image on the screen.
White azaleas are in the background.
She’s wearing a light blue chiffon dress.
Viewers only see the right side of her face, but they always notice a burning passion in her hazel eyes.
Soft golden curls frame her oval-shaped face.
Gently, she holds onto one white petal.
Her poise has grace and dignity.
Dreamingly, she gazes at something distant.
Love was inside her and she never hid it.
Everything about her is artistic,
Even her handwriting in the poetic letters she sent to your daddy.

I viewed the home movies you put on.
I can understand where you come from.
I don’t need to wonder who she was.
She died when I was two years old.
I thought I gave her my cold.
I can sense who she was from the pictures and stories you showed me.
I admire my grandmother, your mother.
I want to be like her.