A Toast to My Grandmother for the Holidays

A Tribute to Winnie R. Hunter

by

Barbie Perkins-Cooper


Holidays can be a time of great depression for us. Families rush around, shopping for gifts, mailing Christmas holiday cards to family and friends, attending parties, drinking holiday spirits.

As a child, my holidays were spent with many traditions. Thanksgiving was a time of feast. My grandmother spent days baking pies, cookies, cakes, hams, turkey, and her infamous, melt-in-your-mouth, and soft-as-a-cloud homemade biscuits. I can still taste those delicate homemade biscuits, and each time I think of them, my tongue tingles to taste just one more. I remember sitting in the kitchen with Grandma, listening to her humming a Southern gospel song while she baked. At times, I washed the dishes, just to help her. When she trusted that I would not burn myself, she allowed me to learn how to bake cookies and cakes. Although I tried to bake biscuits and pies, each batch of my biscuits were fit for only one thing – hockey pucks! As for pies, well the local grocery stores sell Pillsbury pie crusts, and on rare occasions when I attempt pie baking, I’ve learned to appreciate them.

Christmas traditions were a bit of the same. We visited Grandma and Papa in Bibb City, GA every year. Church was a priority for us, not something we might do. Grandma dressed us in our Sunday best and when I walked into the church, I made certain to make an impression. My hair was decorated with hair ribbons. I wore velvet Christmas dresses and French pumps, and when I entered the church, I spun on my heels so the boys would notice me. Grandma shushed me, shaking her finger at me. “Young ladies behave in church,” she said.

“Yes Ma’am,” I replied, rushing toward the boys.

During Christmas, I sang in the church choir, and if there was a church musical, I worked hard to sing and perform so Grandma would be proud of me. Grandma was my role model in life, always there to teach me how to become a lady. When I was ten, I remember rubbing my hands along her stocking covered legs, anxious for the day when I could wear nylon stockings. I sprayed her cologne on my neck and arms, powdered my face with her facial powder, wishing for the day when I could wear makeup and dress ‘lady like.’

After my parent’s divorce, I caught Grandma sitting by a windowsill. I stopped to listen, hearing her prayers and tears. Carefully I opened the door. “Grandma, are you upset with me?” I asked.

“No, sweetie,” she whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. “I have a burden and want to share it with God.”

“Burden? What’s the matter?”

“Whenever something bothers me, I always find a window; look up to the Heavens and pray to God. After I pray, my burden lifts.”

I have remembered that conversation for my lifetime, and when something is gnawing inside of me, I find my special window in my home. Looking up to the sky, I place my hands on the window. “Hey, God, I’m here. I need you.” After my prayers, my burden and my worries lift from my chest, and I feel reborn.” Grandma was so wise. She has no idea the priceless gift of wisdom she gave to me on that day.

We lost Grandma in the early 1970’s to breast cancer. I visited her at the hospital two days before she died. Her doctor prepared me, exclaiming she was in a coma and could not hear or respond to any conversation.

“That’s my Grandma,” I said to him. “She’ll speak to me.”

Lying in coma, I kissed her smooth rose-colored cheek, noticing the stiff white sheets and flat pillows on her bed. Her face was sunken. Eyes tightly closed. Her hands were icy cold, but I held on to them, knowing her life was fading away.

“I love you, Grandma,” I whispered.

Although she was deep in coma, I heard her moan, “I love you too.”

Overwhelmed, I rushed from the room. I did not want Grandma to see me crying. I told the nurses I could not stay.

“We’ll call you,” the charge nurse said.

“When she dies,” I cried, rushing for the elevator.

For three years, she battled cancer never complaining or asking why. When both breasts were removed, her chest left exposed and raw from cobalt, like a rare piece of beef, never did I hear her complain, or ask, ‘why me.’ All she wanted to do was to have the strength to lift her arms again to make homemade biscuits. During those years of fight, I imagine she found her window and prayed so God would lift her burden of cancer.

As a young girl, I did not appreciate traditions. Now that I am older and wiser, I crave them. The holidays are a time to reminisce, and maybe that is why I remember Grandma so vividly on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and every Sunday. I commit to memory her traditions, faith and dreams for her family. I have broken every tradition by not attending church every Sunday. Occasionally, I toss a load of laundry in the washer on Sundays, and my Sunday dinner consists of something quick, or reservations. Thanksgiving and Christmas are shared with extended family and friends, and although I strive to prepare the traditional holiday meals, I have learned to appreciate invitations from my friends. Rarely do my husband and I eat holiday meals in restaurants. “Something is missing when we eat out on Thanksgiving,” Phil says. I nod my head in agreement. There is something to be said for traditions and holiday gatherings at home, sharing a warm fire, a romantic movie and a chilled glass of wine. Although I am exhausted from cooking all day, I feel comfortable with my family and friends nearby.

Life has given me new traditions and with every year, I strive to build more of them. For 2007, I want to find a church where I am comfortable and can offer my talents to help others. I want to remember Grandma. How I wish I could hug her and thank her for the values and beliefs she gave to me. A proud, soft-spoken woman with a strong faith in God, I would not be the woman I am today without her knowledge and the traditions she taught me.

“Whenever you have a burden, go to a window, and pray to God. He is always there, and He will never abandon you. He may not grant all of your wishes, but God knows best.”

Thank you Grandma for your love and your faith.