Bill Walker | Blog

In twenty-six years, I’ve managed to somehow evade the experience of losing anyone especially close to me.  The phone call came yesterday morning, and though the news had been anticipated by a warning the day before, the knot inside was immediately welling up upon hearing the confirmation of her passing.  This is a hole that will never quite be refilled.  Mimom was sick for some twelve years or more battling kidney failure – about half of my life.  The curious thing though, is that we got so used to her tenacity and her surviving that we came to joke that she might outlive all of us, so this day ironically came with a significant degree of unexpectedness.

Being the oldest grandchild, I have many wonderful memories with Mimom before her life changed forever.  And what’s most impressive to us looking back, is that there was no difference at any point in time, even leading up until several days ago, between the joyful woman we knew in my childhood and the fighting, loving, sweet grandmother that left us Thursday morning.  Her energy, spirit and wit were as ready and positive in the weeks leading up to her death as when she would take us shopping and running around town doing all kinds of spoiled grandchildren-type things.

I remember the smell of her car – that old Cadillac with the leather seats holding the remnants of her perfume.  I was always grossed out by the way she would keep used kleenexes in her purse.  I used to tell her this, and she would just laugh at me.  Probably one of the most common remarks you’d expect to here about someone’s grandmother is in regard to cooking.  Well, not with Mimom.  In fact, I don’t have any recollecting of Mimom cooking really.  I think this is kinda funny.  It tells us that, as traditional as Mimom was, she was anything but conventional.

One fond memory sticks out to me in particular.  I must have been about twelve.  My dad had just taught Davis and I how to fly fish, and it was the coolest thing.  We literally stopped caring about hiking and collecting patches of all the mountains we’d climbed, which was sort of a competition between the grandchildren, almost overnight because all we wanted to do was catch fish.  Anyway, Mimom was staying at the family cabin in Estes Park, Colorado with us, and after an especially fun fishing trip, I ran inside to tell her all about it.  She was sewing, reading, doing needlepoint or something like that as usual.  She was sitting on the bed, and I came and jumped on it with her to sit and talk.  I’ll never forget her smile as she listened to me.  I could have been talking about anything in the world and it wouldn’t have mattered.  Obviously she had no interest in fly-fishing.  She cared that I cared about fly-fishing.  No one I’ve ever met could be as delighted as Mimom was to see happiness in others  – in her husband, her children and her grandchildren most specifically.

Mimom was full of surprises – literally.  She would bring us, the grandkids, surprises, which is what she called presents, every time we saw her.  And I’m not talking about lame, stocking stuffer presents.  I mean like legit stuff – the latest cool video game console – presents that were worth getting excited about, especially at age ten or twelve.

In May of 1999, which was during the time when all this change was still new and uncertain in Mimom’s life, one of the best selling albums of all time was released by the famous pop boy band group the Backstreet Boys – “Millennium,” it was called.  I played the hit single “I Want it That Way” once from this CD for Mimom, and she really liked it.  She was always pretty hip for her age.  Lest one think this to be a superficial or silly point, there’s another song on that album called “The Perfect Fan” that is actually quite moving.  I heard it first while driving to Estes Park, Colorado that summer in the car with my family just as we were pulling up to the cabin.  It’s about “Mom”, and it immediately reminded me of my mom, and therefore also Mimom.  The perfect fan – it’s what my mom is to me, and I know that’s because Mimom was the perfect fan to her.  Here are two verses and the chorus from the song:

It takes a lot to know what is love
It’s not the big thing but the little things
That can mean enough
A lot of prayers to get me through
There is never a day that passes by
I don’t think of you
You were always there for me
Pushing me and guiding me
Always to succeed
God has been so good
Blessing me with the family
Who did all they could
And I’ve had many years of Grace
And it flatters me when i see a smile on your face
I wanna thank you for what you’ve done
In hopes I can give back to you
And be the perfect [grandson].
You showed me
When I was young just how to grow
You showed me everything that I should know
You showed me just how to walk without your hands
‘Cause [Mimom] you always were the perfect fan.

In addition to being remembered for countless other reasons, Mimom will be terribly missed because of what she was to all of us – the perfect fan.

On this more serious note, reflecting on Mimom’s life leads me to ask:

How can one who has suffered and endured so much still be the comforter?  How can this one look first to the interests of those around her in light of her own despairing condition?  How is it possible that, when visiting her in the hospital, or in assisted living, when you’re there, regardless of the circumstances, you still feel like she’s trying to watch over you? In this way, Mimom demonstrated the invisible image of God that was made visible by Jesus.  If we desire to appropriately honor and remember Ann Davis, this self-denying, self-emptying example is her legacy that we should all strive to imitate.  Only that kind of tribute would be worthy of Mimom.