A nod to her birthday…every day.

Today would’ve been a milestone birthday for her…she would’ve been 85.

Born on the heels of the Great Depression and in the poor South, my Mamaw had odds against her from the moment she took her first breath.

My eldest uncle said she was of Choctaw decent- 25 percent to be exact. Her father passed when she was young and the most I remember of her mother was that she was born on Valentine’s Day and her home didn’t have running water. Her mother also dipped snuff out of a glass jar. This habit seemed to be pretty common for the women of her era in the working class of the South.

Unfortunately, Mamaw’s formative years were mostly spent in cotton fields instead of classrooms. Her formal education was completed by grade six.

Despite all that was against her…Mamaw grew to be the richest woman I’ve ever known. I’m not talking monetary stuff here…I’m talking real wealth.

Family. Love. Kindness. Grace. Inclusiveness. Generosity.

Mamaw was saintly. Filled with purity and gentleness, she had no enemies. She was the center of attention in every room, even though she often spoke the least. She smiled with her eyes in a way that made you know she loved you, even if she didn’t know you.

Every year on my birthday, she would gift me a single dollar bill…a dollar bill that far outweighed any value markets would assign it.

And now every year on her birthday, there’s a quiet sadness held within the walls of my extended family.

When we first purchased the house we live in now, I wanted to replace the aging, used front door. Walking in and out of it on her birthday that year I couldn’t help but think how a newer and fancier door really wouldn’t change much. We’d already installed the bolts for the hurricane shutter, as required by our insurance company…and although not Category 3 strong, it was still a sturdy old thing with lots of life ahead of it.

So, I painted it pink…a simple nod to my Mamaw’s favorite thrift store, The Pink Door, in our former hometown of New Smyrna Beach. A store in which most of her granddaughters have fond memories…tromping down the aisles in too big high heels, thumbing through donated clothes in hopes of a treasure, smiling and laughing and exploring the real riches of the world with our Mamaw.

And our single dollar bill…

Happy Birthday, Mamaw. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten where I came from. I’m reminded of it every time I walk out my front door. 🩷