A Tribute to my Mommom and Poppop Melson

I don't know how to begin this blog. I've typed and erased. I've looked at pictures for inspiration. The words mulling around in my head just don't seen to encompass the feelings of loss, grattitude, and lessons learned that the death of my grandmother, Mommom, has left with me. It has already been two months since she died and I feel a great need to honor her memory in the best way that I know how. But paying tribute to Mommom means also honoring her husband, my Poppop, who died almost three years ago. My true-life example of peanut butter and jelly, those two go hand in hand.

In my life, grandparents symbolized a childhood of happy memories, laughter, and more love than seems humanly possible to share with just one child. I remember eagerly waiting with my brother and sister in our drive way for the bi-yearly visit from those two. The familiar "Ashley Baby!" as Poppop would climb out of the car and hug me like he honestly didn't want to let go. Mommom's eyes teared up at the sight of us, just as they would upon their departure a week later. There were the many "shows" that my sister and other cousins would put on for Mommom and Poppop. They would sit patiently and watch us dance and sing in front of the fireplace to New Kids on the Block, Debbie Gibson, and MC Hammer. The look on their faces would've made you think they were watching a Tony-nominated show on Broadway instead of their grandchildren flailing about in a tiny living room. In fourth grade, I was suprised with tickets to an MC Hammer concert, courtesy of Poppop. While Mom could've done without being the chaperone for "Hammer Time", going to that concert was the biggest thing my sister and I had ever done. My Poppop kew his audience!

Mommom's love was outpoured in smaller ways. Like brown bags filled with treats for us to munch on during car rides back home after a visit to their house. Encouraging words shared over bowls of mint chocolate chip icecream. Paired with Poppop's boisterous nature, Mommom was a quiet and kind listenener. She was the supporting role that made her family shine.

And my Mommom and Poppop had seven grandchildren! Each of my cousins received the same personalized treatment that I experienced. Those two were just meant to be grandparents. Like a New Jersey native born with an affinity for loud conversation and the Philadelphia Eagles , they were meant to love and dote on their seven prized joys. Mommom and Poppop took their role as grandparents seriously and none of us doubted their love for a second.

Sometimes with Poppop his love was a little too evident in his brash ways. He was once known to look up my older cousin's driving record while serving as a volunteer at the police station. He then called her and wanted to give his two cents about her past speeding tickets. He posted himself ON the field at my brother's football practice several years ago and shouted his opinion of the plays they were running. It was my unfortunate responsibility to pull him back onto the sidelines. After getting married, I quit my job and refused to call Poppop for our usual chat until I found a new position almost two months later. I knew I'd get an earful on "networking...not just on the damn computer" and probably receive a package in the mail full of newspaper clippings on tips for job hunting. Poppop took a great ownership for the sucess of his grandchildren. In his own way of loving us, he forced himself into the nooks and crannnies of our lives and made sure we were doing what was truly best for ourselves.

With Mommom, we regarded her constant stream of questions about the goings on of our lives as "Question Bonanza". She had questions about our school work, friends, jobs, hobbies, and all other manner of things one could question. As a child, I loved the questioning because it put me in the spotlight. I got to talk about my friends, my boyfriend of the day, who my favorite singer was at the moment. As I got older, I became a little "too cool" and was less willing to divulge what was going on in my oh-so mysterious teenage life. I thought of Mommom's questions as annoying and exhausting. Now I see that she truly wanted to know her granddaugther. And she did. Last May I visited her at her assisted-living home in Virginia. The last time that I would speak with her in-person before her death. I told her that I had just bought the most beautiful red Dodge Ram pickup truck. The first words out of her mouth were "You finally got your truck! You've been wanting one since you were 16." I was touched at the fact that she'd remembered such a seemingly trivial desire I'd had as a teenager. It makes me wonder how much information about her family she'd be able to keep tucked away, thanks to all of her questions. While back in Virgina last month for her memorial service, I found a picture in her desk. It was of me at my college graduation with my best friends from college. On the back, I found the words, "Ashley and her family". Both Mommom and Poppop never forgot my best friends from Stephen F. Austin University and how we'd called ourselves "The Family". That picture was the simplest of reminders that I had something very special in my grandparents.

Anyone who has had the honor of loving a grandparent knows that their passing is a fact of life and that time is never our friend. It can sometimes be anticipated, yet when it happens, it crumbles the grown-up hat we each wear and our inner child comes out crushed. It is our childhood that suffers the blow of a grandparent's death. But the adults that those pillars of the family have helped us to become are able to say thank you. Thank you for putting your hands to the mold of my life. Thank you for your unconditional, often times undeservering love. I can see part of you in the person I am today and I am far better for it. Thank you.