Maureen

She was Irish-born in Ireland Irish. She came to America on a boat when she was just 13. She couldn't swim. She settled in northern Ohio with her brother and sister in an Irish Catholic Community. She attended Catholic Schools. Once, she skipped school and took the train to New York City for the day. New York City! The nuns were none too happy upon her return. She joined The Service as a young woman. She felt called to serve this country in a time of war and need. She prayed everyday. She married and became a mother. Two boys and a girl. One of those boys was my dad. Danny Boy. She would sing it to him as a baby, and to be truthful, as an adult. She always called him Danny. Danny Boy the Marine Fighterpilot. "You be careful on those planes Danny." She drank hot tea. Only hot tea. She drank hot tea in August at the Fort Worth Stockyards. She drank hot tea at Disneyland. She drank hot tea in our home. She drank hot tea with her own mother and pet bird everyday. That bird spoke with an Irish Brogue. Noone understood it. She taught me to crochet when I was 11 years old. We picked out needles and yarn, and cussed at scissors that "wouldn't cut butter." I made my dad a scarf. a very long, uneven scarf. I think he even wore it. She took me to work with her in downtown Columbus. We ate lunch at Lazarus. We even rode the bus. To me, it was so fancy and sophisticated. We saw E.T.'s phone. Once, we came for a visit and my sister commented that "all the trees had leaves back home in our country." Ohio seemed like that-another country. I always wished our lives could be more intertwined. I always longed for our visits to be endless. There are already so many goodbyes etched in my mind...

She would bake sugar cookies and send them in the mail to us for holidays. She always had jello pudding pops. I must have watched The Wizard of Oz 500 times on her disc player-the huge disc players before there were even VCRs. They had a pet swan named Charlie. He lived in their garage in the winter. I think he was mean. She took me to church with her. She always went to huge Cathedral Churches. I thought they were beautiful. She sang so loud, and already knew all the words. She was always looking for a sale, and always knew the best places to find one. She had to alter all her own clothes because she was only 5 feet tall. She had purses and shoes to match every outfit. She loved jewelry-especially home shopping jewelry. She gave me her Claudaugh. They always had pets. Molly, Ricky and Simon (dog, dog and cat). When Simon had used his 9th life she called, "So that's the end of pets then." She was "tell it like it is woman." We coined that phrase once during a visit and it stuck. In 8th grade she and grandpa came to Corpus Christi while my parents searched for a new home in Fort Worth. I broke my leg on a trampoline. I can still see the worry on her face. Never jump on a trampoline with a sprinkler...just in case. She always bought Texas souvenirs for people in Ohio. Truly Texas Souvenirs too-things with boots and armadillos plastered on every surface. She always talked about how "steamin" it was down here. "How could we stand it?"

She and Grandpa came for a visit while I was in Washington, DC. We ate at every Bob Evans restaurant in the area, and toured the Basilica of the National Shrine to the Immaculate Conception. I convinced them to ride the Metro out there, and-I'm smiling as I type this now. I don't even remember the details, except for Grandpa's mistrust of the transportation and Grandma's worry about the safety of the transportation. Grandma drank in every inch of the Church. She bought a rosary. She knelt in prayer. I took them back to their hotel every night, after dinner at Bob Evans of course. It was the only time I was with them just me and them. They thought I was a grown up, and were so proud of me. We celebrated at Bob Evans.

She was here for my confirmation, my high school graduation, my college graduation, and she met each of my children. She loved pacifiers. She sent a bear that sang "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" to me when Madison was born. She talked of how she made her own formula, used cloth diapers, put the babies to bed, cleaned the house, and made dinner in the pressure cooker. How could anyone survive without a pressure cooker? I don't even know what one is, but I'm not sure how I'm surviving. She hated bugs. She always sat straight up in a chair or on a couch. Her feet didn't reach the floor. She rode on the passenger side of the car with a pillow against her chest because she felt she wasn't quite tall enough to meet the safety requirements. She always slept really hard, but teased grandpa for "sleeping with one eye open." She watched soaps, but "could miss them anytime." She would just tape them. She loved sweets, but only took a small bite. She said I made beautiful babies and that I should hold them tight.

She cooked ham and cabbage, and loved it. I try-really I do, but I don't think the ham and cabbage gene passed its way down to me. She did not like spicy food. We would pick Mexican Restaurants that served hamburgers as an option. We would always try to get her to eat a jalapeno-just to see her reaction and to hear her protest. Each time it was as if we asked her to hike across the desert in the steamin weather without hot tea at her disposal. She carried tea bags and sweet-n-low in her purse. "Just in Case." She told it like it was. It was so funny. She was so funny. So unique. Her name was Maureen, and she was my grandma.

Today I'm flying to Ohio to say a final goodbye. It's with a heavy heart that I'm desperately pulling for these precious memories. I want to close my eyes and remember all those days and moments we made into memories. I want to remember her for those years and know she's still with me because of them.