23. A time to remember...

Preparing for Harold's mother's funeral tomorrow, I shopped for something to wear.  Though I rarely wear a dress, in Lucille's honor I bought a dress.  Though I never wear a hat, in Lucille's honor I bought a hat.  Then, as I was walking to the checkout, a young girl and her mother walked ahead of me and the mother could have been Lucille from the back.  She turned to the side, and it could have been her from the side.  The woman looked just like her, hat and all. 

I didn't know Lucille when she was young.  As a part of the "greatest generation" (though the phrase seems to have come from descriptions of, well... men... who went to war)...anyway...let's say... members of my parents' generation, she and her husband, Harold Sr., raised their children  in the manner of the day--their sons looked sharp, dressed sharp, knew their place in adult company, obeyed, deferred to and respected their elders, sat still in church, stood tall for their annual September teaspoon of Castor oil, and left the house each day knowing they represented their parents and the honor of their name in every thought and action... knowing they carried the Spooner name in each step they took.

We met on Valentine's Day weekend in 1974.  I didn't know what to expect.  All I knew was, somewhere in those fall and winter months of my senior year at Houghton College, I'd fallen in love with her son, Harold Jr.

Lucille and her husband had "moved on up" to Tracy Towers in the Bronx. Her Mom, Minnie, lived with them.  In fact, Lucille had lived her whole life with Minnie, whose husband had died when Lucille was young.  She and Minnie made their way from Mississippi to New York City, settling down in Harlem, where she later met her Harold in church.  But I digress...that Valentine's Day in '74 I walked past the doorman, into the elevator, and up to the twenty-sixth floor wondering what lay ahead.

I met Minnie (Grandma Jackson to us,) who was so very glad to see her grandson and his new girlfriend.  She slipped me some money and proceeded to ask me to buy her a new sweater and slippers the next time we went out.  I was only too happy to oblige.  I soon learned this was one of her idiosyncrasies, when the rest of the family heard this request-- laughter and explanations swirled around--they took very good care of her and would get her anything she ever wanted, and they did, every day.  Yet, when I met her, she'd asked me to do this as if it were the only way she could get new slippers and a sweater!  Lucille loved her mother dearly, but also lived with her attitudes that seemed to be growing in her old age.

We sat down to Lucille's fine homemade dinner of fried chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad, greens and rice, all prepared with much love.  Of course Minnie was called to come join us all around the table, but she said she wasn't very hungry.  Then she proceeded to sit down and eat a healthy plate of firsts, and seconds, ...of everything. The family knew this was coming, all joking and laughing as the ritual unfolded.

The next day I sat with Lucille, helping with the laundry duties, just the two of us.  As we reached down into the washer, pulling out tightly rinsed garments to throw into the dryer, she said, "When my son told me he was bringing home a girl for the weekend, I was very excited.  But then he said...'Mom, she's a white girl.' 

She went on, "At first I was disappointed, and said, 'Oh, a white girl??'  But then I thought about it.  I realized, this is the woman my son loves.  If he loves her, and she loves him, then...that's what's important."

She finished her story to me by saying, "...And I've been alright with it ever since.  I just had to think about it, that's all."

I will never forget those words.  I will never forget Lucille's voice as she spoke them.  I can see us both together in that laundry room 36 years ago, as clearly as if it were today.

I remember her voice calling to ask about each of our children on the phone over the years, her voice of advice and encouragement the first time I had to deal with a racial incident in my son's pre-school, her laughter and confidence when the four of us were playing cards together, her concern for the young people in her community, her pride and love for her husband, "Spooner," (who, by the way, is definitely in my greatest generation description, as he proudly served our nation at war in the Merchant Marines.) 

I remember her joy describing the cruises she'd been on, and I'll never forget the first time I saw Lucille and Harold Sr. dancing--they could have been on "Dancing with the Stars!"  I remember her love and care for her mother, her family, her church family, and her God. I can see her vividly, sitting each early morning with her tea and toast, and then reading her Bible.

No, I didn't know Lucille when she was young. And, many miles separated us for long periods of time as we both grew older.  However, I was privileged to have been touched by her life, privileged to have walked with her in the moments that were granted to us in time, in the life of our family.  I thank her (especially for her son, but for everything really) and, I pay tribute to her for her life of work, dedication, perseverance, consistency, loyalty, understanding and love.