hugs and kisses from their young children. Breakfast is lovingly and
painstakingly made by little hands. Gifts and cards may be store
bought or handmade. What means the most is the love. Remember mama.
It was a usual sight for a visitation the night before a funeral. The
proverbial old ladies sitting next to the casket while family members
and friends mingled, hugged, and shed tears of sadness. Such was the
scene at the recent funeral of my mother's sister, the last of their
generation to leave us. While it was a sad occasion and many tears
fell, there was also laughter to be heard. People remembered my aunt
with love and laughter. And most of all, they remembered mama.
The visitation room in which my aunt lay at the Charleston funeral home
was built by my grandfather, Sebastian Cabot Poston. The funeral
director was most anxious that the family know this-- and know that
they remembered my family. What a comfort it was for the family to
know his daughter was in a place he had known well and lovingly built
about 50 years ago.
I introduced myself to the old ladies in attendance as Louise's
sister's child. Ears perked up, eyes glistened, and these beautiful
gentile women spoke lovingly to me. They knew my name, and they
remembered mama. While my mother has been gone for many a year, they
brought her back to me that night. They spoke of the times when they
were all young girls together. They made my laugh and cry.
These same women sat directly behind me at my aunt's funeral and spoke,
yet again, of my mother and the past. At the reception after the
service, I had a blessing bestowed on me. People remembered mama. And
it was all with love in their voices. They remembered my grandmother
and spoke of her love for her Lord and gave me more memories which are
now in my heart.
I remember mama. I remember the unconditional love, the way she
couldn't tell a joke, the way she and my dad would waltz, the times
when I thought her rules were way too strict, her love of God, her love
of family, her unfailing support of her children and her husband, the
way my head and heart felt when I rested on her shoulder, the way she
taught us to live, and the way she taught us how to die. Oh yes, I
Why do I get a kick out of genealogy? It's my way to preserve the
history of the family. It's my way to see how my ancestors lived.
It's my way to try and understand the sacrifices made by our ancestors
so we may flourish. It's been my blessing to see how much faith has
been a part of the family. It's my way to teach my children.
Oh yes, I remember mama. And through me, my children are given a
strong sense of who they are and who she was. Oh yes, I remember mama.
I miss her terribly but her love is with me always. Yes, I remember