Today is the date Doris Newcomb died. Yesterday was the date her husband, George Washington Newcomb, died - 10 years earlier than her. They were my grandparents – Granny and PaPa. They were Newcombs. They changed my life forever.
I grew up with my grandparents living 500 miles away from me. I didn’t know my grandfather that well, as I was probably in 2nd grade when he died. But I remember loving him, and him loving me. I remember him loving my mom, his daughter-in-law, fondly referring to her as “Puddin”. And I remember ten years after his death, when my grandmother died, how we found all those medals and purple hearts in a beat up cigar box. He had never once mentioned them. We’ve often wondered if she even knew about them. He stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-day. That’s where he got those purple hearts. The man never mentioned a word of the war afterwards. To this day, I can’t watch Saving Private Ryan without experiencing a chilling realization that this cinematic production actually happened and my grandfather was a part of it.
It is hard to explain how a woman I only got to see twice a year became such an important influence in my life. But to this day, the greatest compliment I have ever received is “as long as Angie Newcomb is alive, Doris Newcomb will never be dead.”
She was a slight, small, frail looking woman, almost always weighing less than 100 pounds. And she had her weaknesses and struggles, but she was a tough old bird. Strong as she could be. She endured a lot of pain and suffering, disappointment, grief, and turmoil in her life. But she loved. Oh how she loved.
She always protected us kids whenever Mom and Dad would come down too hard on us. If she heard my dad getting on us about our grades, she’d slam that recliner into its lowered position, march into the back bedroom, and return with old grade cards of my dad’s, showing us some Ds much to our surprise (my dad is a very successful, well-educated man) and tell him to back off. She’d make homemade biscuits and give me, my brother, and my cousins extra dough, which she allowed us to throw onto the ceiling, watch it slide off, and throw it back up there until finally it stuck on the ceiling and hardened over the years. She would indulge us the way grandparents often do, taking us down to their little country store and letting us get cold bottles of Dr. Pepper and pour peanuts into them, sucking down the peanuts for that delightfully salty-sweet taste. I took in a turtle I found in her yard once, loved him for a whole week, and then when it was time to go back to Ohio, I had to let him go and was inconsolable – convinced he would wander onto that country road and get flattened by a car. Finally she yelled “Dammit Angie, don’t you know that turtles don’t get out in the road? They hate asphalt!” I was immediately silent and worry-free, and it wasn’t until I was almost an adult that I realized that was a bold-faced lie.
She’d lie there in her recliner, with her ashtray and cigarettes right next to her, and appear to be asleep, mouth agape. Then she would shoot up like a cannon, slamming down the recliner, chirping “Y’all want a snack?” She loved a cone of cream from the Tastee Freeze. I have a scar above my lip from a fishing trip with her where I yanked on the pole so hard, the hook flew back and landed in my lip. Before we’d start a meal she’d say “Thank God for supper.” She appears to be the source of my naturally curly hair, as she had waves in hers. She’d tell me that the boys used to tell her they wanted to walk barefoot in her hair and told me not to let others tease me about something they would later envy and pay money for (curls). My cousins tricked me once into eating a hot pepper in the back of Granny & PaPa’s truck and I was screaming, tears flowing. From the front of the truck she yelled back, “Open up your mouth and let the wind blow around in it to cool ya off!” She had nerves, raw nerves that made her anxious as hell at times, and I’ve inherited those. She was stubborn as a mule and determined. She told you like it was, so if you didn’t want to hear the truth, you really shouldn’t have asked her. And she was so completely lovable.
I’ve felt an emptiness inside me since she left this world that will never be filled. My single greatest regret in life is not attending her funeral. It was finals week at Ohio State, and I didn’t know how to throw an entire quarter of school down the drain when I was such an over-achieving freshman. I’ve always hated myself for missing those moments of closure and honor for such an amazing woman. I hope she forgave me and understands.
I recently became engaged, and we made the very meaningful decision to use part of her antique engagement ring in the new setting we created for our new life together. This means I wear a beautiful reminder of her each day.
People ask me why I didn’t change my name when I married my ex-husband years ago. The answer is pretty simple. I’m proud of where I come from and who made me who I am today. I am a Newcomb. A Jamaican palm reader takes one look at my hand and tells me I’m stubborn and passionate, and I grin, thinking of where I got that from. Someone stops me to ask if my hair is naturally curly and I say yes, and then I think about boys walking barefoot in it. J
Blessid Union of Souls released a song called "Nora" back in the 90s. It always makes me think of Granny, and it always makes me cry. Please take a moment to listen to it.And though I know there wasn't long to go
Time was something that we shared
And when you died I didn't cry for long
Cause I believe I'll see you again
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6jMjnVJlzY
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