Her name was Lorene, and she was my friend. 

She lived just down the road. On Saturday mornings I would walk to her house so she could cook me breakfast. We’d sit at the table, and she’d tell me stories about her kids. She would laugh until she had tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Then she’d talk about the Great Depression and hard times and the Christmas they thought they’d have nothing until people from church showed up with food and gifts. There were tears then too. 

If I showed up later in the day she’d fry chicken patties and make sandwiches. When I asked her why they were so good, she told me she “didn’t do nothin’ special. Just threw ’em in a pan of bacon grease.” 

She worked in cafes her whole life. She cooked a big meal for her family every Tuesday night. She made each of her seven kids a coconut cake every December. 

Her name was Lorene, and she loved to cook.

Her name was Lorene, and she hated Ric Flair. She never cussed unless he was on TV. As soon as Flair’s music hit, she would say, “Here comes that SOB!” 

I went to her house every week for WCW Monday Nitro. She was the only person I knew that loved it as much as me. When a match got really heated, she would get up on the edge of the couch and swing with them. 

She prayed for Diamond Dallas Page when his “broken ribs” wouldn’t heal. She cried during Scott Steiner’s “retirement speech” until he threw his crutches off and hit his brother with one. She said that was “the sorriest thing” she’d ever seen. 

Her name was Lorene, and she loved to watch “wrasslin.”

Her name was Lorene, and when I came out of my baptismal waters, the first thing I heard was her shouting “PRAISE THE LORD!” 

She was half the reason my hair was wet. She had talked to me about God for years. She said she talked to God all day every day. She could turn anything you said into a testimony. She’d tell about her husband getting saved – how God had got him to quit drinking and how good a man he was after that. She said the last years with him made all the hard ones worth it. 

She said God had blessed her, and her children, and her children’s children, and her children’s children’s children. She’d cry during the blessing and once asked God to be with those who “had done done it.” Her name was Lorene, and she loved the Lord.

Her name was Lorene, and even though I was twice her size, she called me her “little buddy.”

Her name was Lorene, but I called her Mamaw.

Her name was Lorene, and it took me 10 years to be able to visit her grave.

Her name was Lorene, and I still miss her.

Her name was Lorene, and she loved me.

Will Stults is a performing songwriter from Russellville. See more at www.willstults.com.