In 1992, my maternal Grandmother, Helen, passed away, and I grieved intensely, especially the night before the funeral. The visitation was scheduled an hour before her morning services. I had hoped to remain calm and collected during it, but I could not keep the tears from rolling down my face.
I was also concerned about my Aunt Dorris. Although she was from my dad’s side of the family, over the years, Granny and her had become inseparable friends. Because I knew her so well, I was aware she was grieving as much as I, but trying not to show it. She told me there were many people there I had known years ago, but at this point, hadn’t seen for a long time. My aunt wanted us to get a chance to speak with them, and she especially wanted to introduce Chuck, my husband, since none had met him.
That is when the first chink in her wall of calmness fell. Because Aunt Dorris began introducing Chuck to everyone as Thurman.
As I stated earlier, my husband’s first name is Chuck, his last name is Isaac. Thurman was the name of my cat. My poor Aunt didn’t realize what she was saying because she was so intent on keeping calm. My husband and my eyes met, and we both sort of shrugged. We didn’t want to correct her, heaping embarrassment on top of her now obvious grief. Aunt Dorris went on to introduce my husband using my cat’s name to scores of people.
Then the second chink fell when she said his last name. Person after person had questioning looks on their faces when she stated my husband’s last name was Richards–which they all knew was my maiden name. Many also knew of my long-time pet, Thurman, the cat.
When Aunt Dorris continued saying Chuck was Thurman Richards, there were some priceless looks on people’s faces, some whose eyes got as big as saucers. I had to choke down a laugh.
Finally, I was able to quit crying, and even smile. The Lord sent me something that morning, through my dear aunt, that made me grin, and even caused me great joy—at a time when I didn’t think I would do either thing again.
By the way, Aunt Dorris never realized what she had done, and we never told her.
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning,” Psalm 30:5
When my daughter was born four years later, I had the honor of naming her Helen. Aunt Dorris joined Granny shortly afterward. My hope has been that when the two friends were reunited in Heaven, Aunt Dorris let Granny know she had a namesake.
Finding cashew butter free of allergens became difficult, so we started making our own. We will never go back to store bought. This is easy, quick and the only additives are the ones you put in.
