One of my favorite things to do was hold MeeMaw’s hands. I called them her “little paws” as they puzzled perfectly inside mine. As a kid, I remember visits and entering through her home’s teal door. She let us go through her “treasure drawer” and pick out anything we wanted. There were decks of cards, colorful buttons and small toys. 

My Godparents lived down the street. We all shared a love for our MeeMaw. We weren’t related by blood, but she was definitely a grandmother in our lives. My Godsister remembers how fun dress-up was at her house. She smiles while sharing the story of MeeMaw’s size-three shoes, “It was a treat to have high heels that fit me.”

After college, I helped move my parents back to Texas, only a handful of streets away from MeeMaw. Nearing 90, she hired me to drive her to appointments. Weekly, I made sure she made it to the beauty shop. Often, we’d continue our conversations in her mini-parlor, which was just big enough for a couch and a small circle table.

She shared stories and I listened, captivated. One day, I told her about a house for sale down the street from her. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were neighbors?” I asked. MeeMaw got really quiet. She told me about a murder in that house. “The news broke while my handyman was here making repairs,” she said. I hung on every word as MeeMaw explained how she wanted to be sure her friend, a POC, wasn’t hassled or profiled by the police. “I didn’t want him to walk home or take the bus. It would have been dangerous. So, we waited until it was dark. In the carport, I had him lay down on the floorboard of my backseat and we put a blanket over him.” Her blue eyes were wide as she remembered. “He was completely still as I drove him past the police cars and we got him home safely.”

It was easy to talk to MeeMaw and romanticize her life in the early 1900’s. Sobering stories reminded me of the life she had lived and the far-from-perfect situations she faced. At 4-foot-something, she stood tall in her decisions. Her hands were so small. But when necessary, she took matters into them and acted with integrity. I reflect on her and how she’d be 105 this summer. I think about what she taught me and how I want to live a life of courage, compassion and with her blue eyes wide-open. I don’t want to be afraid to see what’s lacking in the world or let fear deter me from doing what’s right. I have some pretty big size three shoes to fill.