Every painting or drawing I create holds a special meaning. Over the years, I’ve built a personal family portrait collection featuring many of the people I love most. I’d like to think I’ve captured not only their faces, but also their spirit, preserving a piece of who they were for future generations. Maybe one day, someone will look at these portraits and remember the stories that have been passed down through the years.
My current project is a portrait of my Grandma Willie, my dad’s mother.
Grandma’s life was anything but easy. She lost both of her parents in a car accident when she was just 3 years old and was sent to live with other family members. The scars on her back told the story of a childhood spent working in the fields instead of attending school. She married my grandfather when she was only 13 years old, and by the age of 15, she had welcomed the first of her 10 children into the world. Along the way, she also endured the heartbreaking loss of a set of twins just days after they were born.
Despite everything life placed before her, Grandma remained one of the most positive people I have ever known.
She memorized recipes simply by having someone read them aloud. I can still picture her standing at the stove, frying chicken in her well-seasoned cast-iron skillet. My parents often talked about how she earned extra income by taking in ironing. Ministers would bring their church shirts to her to be washed and pressed with heavy starch until they looked perfect.
During the last three years of her life, Grandma lived with my parents. Even though I was grown and had a home of my own, I always felt like she was my partner in crime.
One of the things I wish I could have shared with her was our family’s Native American heritage. My sixth-great-grandmother on her side was Betsy Silk Feathers, and we know members of her family traveled the Trail of Tears. I often wonder what Grandma would have thought knowing that part of her story.
Grandma Willie passed away on July 28, 1984. The last photograph I have of her shows her holding my 5-week-old son, wrapped in a beautiful handmade quilt she had sewn herself.
Whenever I visited, I loved helping her with her quilting. I’m fortunate to still have one of those quilts today. It even has a small stain from where she dribbled snuff while working on it. Most people might see a flaw, but I see something priceless. She marked my quilt, and every time I see it, I smile.
After Grandma passed away, a neighbor created a Grandma Willie doll for me using the lid from her snuff jar as a hat. The lace and fabric came from scraps in Grandma’s sewing basket. Today that doll sits proudly in her little leopard-print chair, serving as a daily reminder of the sacrifices she made and the strong shoulders I stand on.
Grandma loved her family with all her heart. Even though life was often difficult, she always managed to find joy in the simple things. I never questioned whether she loved me, and I know how deeply I loved her.
Some of my favorite memories are the little ones. I remember eating the best cheese I’d ever tasted at her house. At the time, I didn’t understand what government commodities were, but I knew that cheese was delicious. Her shelves were always filled with home-canned vegetables and pickles. She never let us leave empty-handed, sending us home with jars of green beans, pickles and whatever else she’d put up for the season.
To this day, I still don’t care much for store-bought green beans. Grandma spoiled me.
There always seemed to be a pot of brown beans simmering on the stove alongside a pan of fresh cornbread. Somehow, she had a way of making the simplest meals taste extraordinary.
If I were given just five more minutes with Grandma Willie, I’m not sure where I’d begin. There are so many stories I’d love to hear again and so many things I’d want to tell her.
As I continue working on her portrait, I treasure every memory she left behind. The ladies I paint with always laugh because every time I sit down at my easel, I quietly say, “Hi, Grandma.”
If there’s one thing I hope you take away from my story, it’s this:
Hug the people you love. Cherish the ordinary moments. One day, those simple memories will become the greatest treasures you have.
