When I think of my grandmother

My grandmother passed away last week.

Elizabeth Hayes was my dad’s mother. Her passing wasn’t a shock, as it is almost expected at 90 years of age, but it was made more painful because she had a stroke about two weeks prior.

We were sad – but really only for ourselves. She is in a much better place.

The entire family called her “Buba” – not because we are rednecks (although maybe we are), but because the oldest son didn’t say Mama, he said Buba, and it stuck. I wouldn’t want to call any names, but I think that my uncle Ronnie Hayes would be responsible for that.

(At least, this is the only reason I can remember, and I hope this is correct, now that it’s in print.)

Not only did everyone in the family call her Buba, but pretty much anyone who knew her called her that as well. She loved everyone she met. I don’t think she ever met anyone she didn’t like. Everyone was welcome in her home – the more was always the merrier. It was not uncommon to see a face you didn’t recognize at family holidays.

She loved doing crafts. She loved to crochet, sew or do really any type of craft. Most of the time, the dining room table was covered in whatever project she was currently working on. When I was a child, she would always make my cousins and me something special for Christmas.

Her other favorite hobby was talking. Several times over the course of the last few days, as people have mentioned things they remember about her, the most common phrase was “she could talk your ears off,” and she really could. Like I said, she loved everyone, welcomed everyone and made everyone feel at home in her home.

In looking back, I want to remember how welcoming and loving she was to everyone. She didn’t care where you came from or what you looked like. She already loved you. That is what I think of the most about my grandmother.