Forty-nine years ago today, my great-grandmother, Mary Belle Jones Clary, passed away.
I remember clearly coming through the front door with Mother. The phone was ringing and Mother hurried to answer it. She was carrying her “fall” – hairpiece – in a large round case.
The case dropped to the floor. Mother’s head dropped to her chest.
I stood, cemented at the front door, hanging on to the black wrought iron rail. I wasn’t sure, but I knew something dreadful had happened to “Grandma CooCoo.”
The details of the funeral and cemetery are still clearly etched in my memory, even though I was not quite three and one half years old.
This was a dear woman we laid to rest 49 years ago, and I still wish I could have been afforded more time with her.