A grandchild views their grandmother with starry eyed wonder. She is larger than life; more innocent than Jesus, and pretty much can do no wrong. As I reflect on the life of my grandmother, I admit my bias as a grandchild. She is indeed larger than life, more innocent than Jesus and pretty much could do little to nothing wrong in my eyes. I think I speak for me, John, Marcus and Josh in that regard. We all loved her immensely and we all had the distinct pleasure of being loved by her in our own unique way. She would tell you that she didn’t play favorites, but she absolutely did. When you were with her, you were her favorite. Whether she had all four of us together, or two of us, or was doting on us individually, we each were her favorite.
I have the pleasure of knowing Northern Grandma Bet who migrated up north in the 70s just before I was born and Southern l Bettie Mae who returned home in the 90s to take care of her ailing mother. Grams would say she was the same no matter where she lived or in her words, “I’m just a girl from Johnston County. My momma and daddy raised us to work hard and be honest, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” And then she’d point that finger and cock her head, drop her voice just a bit and say, “And that’s what I expect you to do too.” But her eyes never left you and her head never moved until somehow you verbalized your agreement. And once you said “Okay, Grandma,” with the slightest imperceptible shift, she’d right her body and say, “Alright now.” And that was that.
From a young age, my brother and I were tasked with shepherding our younger cousins, Marcus and Josh on the Greyhound from Raleigh to Washington, DC, where Grams would meet us. It didn’t matter if we were coming or going, the set up was the same. We had to use the bathroom before we boarded the bus, and then the four of us piled into 1 ½ seats in the front row directly behind the bus driver, so he could watch us from the rear view mirror. Grams would point her finger and say, “when I put you on this bus, you bet not get off, not now time or Ima whoop you good.” Let me just pause and say, I don’t actually ever remember being whooped by my grandmother. My brother and I were bad children so that’s not to say we didn’t deserve our share of whoopings, it’s just that Grams had a look and when her finger got to pointing and her head dipped…it was worse than the sting of any belt. So needless to say, we sat on that Greyhound, me against the window with Josh in my lap, Marc on the seat kind of on mine, kind of on John’s and John closer to Marc than the outside aisle…1 ½ seats, coming and going with our ham sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil in case we got hungry. I couldn’t even tell you what the Greyhound bus station in Washington, DC looks like. We never saw it. Grams was always waiting right outside the bus to corral us off to her station wagon whenever we arrived.
Grams was a surgical tech in OR at GWU Hospital, but in my eyes, she might as well have been the head nurse. She ran that OR and all the doctors and nurses had no qualms with admitting that. She was at work the day Regan got shot and was brought into GW for his life to be saved. I honestly can’t remember where Grams told us she was at that exact moment, all I know was in the eyes of this grandchild, she practically saved President Regan’s life. Remember, every grandchild sees their grandparents as larger than life and I am certainly no different.
Grams introduced us to culture – she took us to parks, museums, the zoo, the movies, skating, bowling. My love of of art, ballet, classical musical, and especially water parks all originate from some memory my brother and I share with my Grams. She taught us how to ride the city bus and the subway. Taught me how to hold my purse and be alert in the city. She taught me to keep a little change or dollar bills separate from my real wallet to offer to the homeless or others we might encounter in need on the city streets. We were never without some adventure with Grams. She planned for every moment of our time with her, always looking for something to make it fun and memorable. She’d often say, “I may not have a little money but we …” and we’d do … whatever that was. In my eyes, she might as well owned a bank.
Northern Grandma Bet was devoted to her church, only her family came before her duties to the church. Northern Grandma Bet had friends and co-workers who laughed as loud and boisterously as she. Northern Grandma Bet threw the best parties, but I’m not supposed to know that. She’d put my brother and I in her back bedroom, look us in the eye and say, “And you’d bet not come out this room.” Only to sneak us a plate of snacks later in the evening when she came to check on us.
Food was a highlight of our life in DC, especially eating crabs. We’d go down to some place in Southeast or off Branch Ave and buy a bushel or two of live crabs. And I know we’re in the house of the Lord, but remember Grams told me to be honest… We’d take those crabs back to Grandma and Granddaddy’s place and she’d pull out this gigantic lobster pot. Granddaddy would pour a six pack of beer in the pot with some old bay seasoning, add some water and set the pot to boil. Then my brother and I would clamor over each other trying to watch the crabs crawl to their death in the pot. And while we were in the kitchen with Granddaddy watching the crabs turn magical in the pot, Grams would be in the dining room, spreading newspaper for our feast. She taught us how to identify the dead man, told us not to eat the mustard. All while slipping her first dog, Rex pieces of crab meat.
Grams owned 4 dogs in her lifetime: Rex, Neiko, Roxy and Queenie. And she believed in feeding them what she ate. “They eat what I eat” she would also say. I’m told even during her last days, she sent my aunt to Bojangles for chicken. Not because Grams wanted chicken. Nope, she wanted to feed her dog Queenie chicken. And I’m told that’s exactly what she did, tossing pieces of chicken to Queenie for her to gobble up.
You have to understand how my Grams humanized her dogs. Queenie drinks cold bottled spring water. Rex was taught to brush his teeth, because my Grams didn’t do odor. She’d put a ribbon of toothpaste on the tub and say, “C’mon, Rex, let’s brush your teeth” and Rex would eat the toothpaste. Then she’d say, “Show Momma, did you brush your teeth?” And he’d open his canine mouth and show off all his scissored teeth.
From a young girl, Grandma had no qualms, grabbing me underneath my arm and “telling me about myself” if she thought I was in her words, “smelling a little too high”. And after too many times of smelling too high, she’d threaten to wash me herself and add some Clorox to my water. To this day, I’m still not sure what the bleach was supposed to do. But I was child of the outdoors, so you can imagine that I heard this threat way more times than I can count.
My grandmother had a rich, melodious laugh that lingered well after it ended. Somehow it settled underneath your breastbone embedding its invitation of joy deep into your soul. Her smile was like a bright light bulb, lighting up the room, and her eyes twinkled more than Santa Claus. She had a zeal for life and adventure, and she loved to go and explore.
And as I aged and moved away from NC, I always enjoyed coming back to visit and hearing of the how well loved and cared for she felt by the seniors ministry here at Springfield Baptist Church and also in DC at Rehoboth. She loved her pastors and her church family. She loved serving as president of the pastor’s aide and helping out where she could. Grams knew what she could do and what she couldn’t do and didn’t mind telling you no, if it was something she couldn’t do … or didn’t want to do.
Grams was a woman of faith. She believed deeply in the power of prayer. She was quick to tell us, “Just pray. Trust that it’s all gonna work out and pray about it.”
She didn’t offer platitudes – Grams said what she meant and she meant what she said. And she had no problem with telling someone about themselves. “Listen, I’ll tell her about herself too.” And she would. When we were wrong, she told us about ourselves and got us straight.
This was my grams though – she was the right mix of soft and hard. Grams was solid. It didn’t matter how much chaos swirled around us, or how transitional or volatile life got for us – I can speak for myself, my brother and my cousins Marcus and Joshua and say – she was our anchor, our sure thing. The one we knew we could count on and go to. She was compassionate and kind and listened well, but she was also a straight shooter. There was no in between. You were gonna know exactly where you stood and where she stood, and she could articulate her position well. This drew some people to her, others it sent away. Still, she was not one to sugar coat anything.
She was determined. She was fierce. When she made her mind up about something, game over. That was it. She did things with excellence and she expected excellence in return. If the Queen of England had a black first cousin, it would be my Grandmother. She was a woman of regal bearing though she consider herself a low and humble country girl. She never thought highly of herself, but she carried herself with the stature of a queen. She loved hard and she loved deep.
And family was what she lived for. When our great grandmother died, there was no question about who would assume the role of matriarch in our family. Grandma Bet was the gatherer. The place we all came to for meals each holiday or Sunday after church, lingering around her kitchen table. And whether you showed up or not, she’d say, “I’m gon have my food done.” Carrying on the traditions of her own momma, right down to hosting family Pokeno and bingo games at Christmas, family is deeply what she tried to instill in us all and pass down to us. I know without a shadow of a doubt, it is the one thing she would want us to carry forward. And I would be lying to tell you that I’ve done that well so I won’t. But I can offer her words that she often gave to me. She’d shake her head at me and say, “Tavette, family is all you got. When everyone else is gone, your family will always be there. I don’t care what they do to you or don’t do, that’s still your family. You got to love them and pray for them. And just do what you can cause they still your family.” And she meant that, there were no two ways about it when it came to Grandma’s family.
Grams was a good ancestor. And now she takes her rest among our ancestors, leaving us to remember, to reflect, and to respond. How will we live in the days to come? How will we honor the memory of Bettie? How will we continue her legacy? How can we also be good ancestors in the ways of our dear beloved, Bettie Mae. May those of us who loved her bear witness to the best of who she was as we live out our days.
I found life in my grandmother and now I’m responsible for living out my grandmother’s life within me. I found strength in my grandmother and now I’m responsible for living out my grandmother’s strength within me.I found truth in my grandmother and now I’m responsible for living out my grandmother’s truth within me.I found radiance and a deep sense of peace and confidence in my grandmother and now I’m responsible for living out those values of grandmother’s life within me.
How did the life of Bettie Mae Eason Alford impact you? What did you find in the life of my Grandmother? What of her life can continue on in you?
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