I have been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately. Different things have happened that have reminded me of her. The way our neighbor, Mrs. Cecilia, speaks with a slight southern accent – soft and elegant, just a tad of a twang to let you know what part of the country she was born and raised. The way my mother doles out dry humor or makes her lips straight as a line and lowers her eyes a bit when she disagrees with you and doesn’t want to say it out right. The way an elderly lady with frail skin thin like paper that looked like she needed to be handled with care was slightly hunched over pushing her grocery cart in the store. In some of these moments, I wonder if I am really seeing what I am seeing or if the longing in my heart is causing my brain to make it up. I’ve been doing a lot of double takes lately. I have even caught myself off guard doing things and then thinking, well Raegen, that was Bobbie Irby of you. Like how I looked at my plate the other night and thought dinner wasn’t colorful enough or how I knew my chocolate chip cookies wouldn’t taste the same if I didn’t bake them on the old, dilapidated cookie sheet or how my pecan pies wouldn’t taste right because I didn’t have the cooper bottom pot in which to mix the ingredients.   

To me, Bobbie Fae Beall Irby was the epitome of a Southern Belle. She didn’t come from money. Never had much of it, but she did have a treasure trove of grace, dignity, mercy, and humor. She was classy and well-dressed everywhere she went – to the store, work, or even the doctor. Her starched button up shirt neatly tucked into her midi length skirt. Pantyhose and flats in place. Hair nicely combed. Jergens lotion applied to hands and arms, a little blush to highlight cheek bones, and a light but not flashy shade of pink lipstick dabbed on the lips and then softly patted together to make it all even. 

My grandmother had been through a lot in her life. Born in August of 1917 in Philadelphia, MS she was raised during the Great Depression. They had so little that she’d often say they didn’t even know there was a depression until they went to town. Grandma spoke fondly of her parents and family -hard workers who didn’t have much but gave away what little they had to those who needed it – taking in passersby who needed a place to stay for the night, serving the Lord with whatever they were given in talent, time, and money. Grandma seemed to be an obedient child by her recollection and others. Though, she often recalled the one time she sassed her mama. After seeing the hurt look on her mother’s face, she never did it again. As she would tell the story, one could tell it would still hurt grandma’s heart to admit to her wrongdoing. Grandma was a hard worker inside and outside the home. She worked for Boeing Company for thirteen and a half years and retired in 1979 from Amoco Oil after working for them for six and a half years. She took care of a home and her family while still working. She wasn’t flashy. Never a ‘boss lady’. Didn’t dream of “having it all”. She simply grew where the Lord planted her. After she passed, I read in an old newspaper article that she served as captain of her basketball team in high school. Something we all thought worthy of discussion, yet Grandma never mentioned it. 

She met my grandfather through a friend, John Beddingfield. According to Grandma, John asked her if he could introduce her to his friend Charles Irby. She replied with “If he’s as good as you, John, I’ll meet him”. She married my grandfather, Charles, in June of 1946 at the age of 28. Grandpa fought in WWII and brought home the aftermath and struggle many soldiers often carry home with them. Grandma loved him through it all, and they stayed together for 55 years until Grandpa’s passing in 2001. 

They had their first daughter, Kipps Rowe, in March of 1952. Kippy was later diagnosed with leukemia and passed away right before her third birthday. In 1956, they had my precious mother, Kerry Beall, who quickly became the joy of their life and the center of their world – until her six grandchildren came along! Never having smoked a day in her life, she battled cancer three times. She decided the third time that she had had enough. After having lived in Mississippi, Seattle, and several places around New Orleans, she and my grandfather settled in the small town of Arnaudville, LA in 1996 where she lived out the rest of her days amongst the trees, fresh country air, and potted flowers right next door to her daughter, son-in-law, and six precious grandchildren. 

I could tell you of her little quirks like how she liked to have her iced tea with ice filled to the glassy brim so that the ice touched her nose when she drank it. Or how she would keep everyone’s favorite Blue Bell ice cream flavor in her old upright freezer even though her favorite was plain old vanilla (with left over room temperature coffee poured on top). I could tell you how she always kept stick gum in her purse. Wrigley’s. As a kid, it was simply the green, white, and yellow packs. Or how the glass jar on her piano was always filled with Werther’s Originals and she never failed to have Bit-O-Honey’s and Mary Janes for a long car ride to visit family in Mississippi. I could tell you how she liked a big breakfast on Saturday morning and would stand at the stove making pancakes and bacon for everyone- leaving a dirty kitchen in her wake with used napkins littering the countertops. I could tell you how she never raised her voice, not even when we grandchildren got out of control or when she discovered their car missing from the driveway. With a soft voice and a calm heart, it was simply, “Now, listen here, you know you aren’t supposed to do that” and “Well, Irb, the cars gone”. 

I wished more people would have known her. If I could sum her up in one sentence, I would say that my grandmother loved Jesus, and she loved people. That’s it. That is who she was. I remember very clearly the weeks before she passed away. I had moved home after college to help take care of her. She read her Bible daily. However, her eyesight was failing, and she needed bigger print. She would be propped up in bed with the lamp pointed right on the page and her face so close to the words her nose practically touched every line. She never failed to spend time with Jesus. She took care to love her family and the people in her life and no matter what came, her faith never wavered. 

I think I have been thinking about my grandmother lately because I am realizing I am getting older. The older I get I am finding these habits slinking in that I never thought I would inherit. Along with the previously mentioned, I have a hankering for Blue Bell often, I am solving crossword puzzles daily (although my brain is not as sharp as hers was), I have a tendency to leave used paper towels all over the kitchen while I am cooking, and although I can’t see my face, I feel my lips start to straighten and my eyes lowering when I disagree with someone but know I need to hold my tongue. To be completely honest, I don’t mind it so much. 

The older I get, the more I also think about what I will be leaving behind. Many people leave behind monetary treasures to their loved ones when they leave this Earth. These things are nice, but they aren’t eternal. Grandma left behind things that will last on this side of Heaven and eternally. She left behind something even more precious than gold. She left behind her example – a legacy of loving Jesus and loving people. Of all the things I remember about her; this is what I hope I have inherited the most. I want to love Jesus and love people, and I want to do it well. I want a faith that doesn’t waver. No matter how life turns out or where I end up, no matter if life brings joy or sorrow, struggle, or splendor, even if life doesn’t turn out as planned or even if I fail, I want to remember that my Jesus never will. I become more grateful for my grandmother and her example with each passing day, and I hope that one day, when I leave this earth someone will say – she loved Jesus and she loved people.