This past Saturday, my family gathered together to celebrate my cousin's baby shower. When my cousin, Alison, got to a specific gift, my aunt Kathi said, "You HAVE to read the card first!" Inside was a note from my uncle Wayne that read, "This is made out of your grandmother's pajamas, so you'll always remember that she is with you." Alison reached in the bag and pulled out a beautiful pink rose-colored teddy bear, which Kathi had sewn from Mammaw's pajamas, right down to the button eyes.Mammaw's favorite flower was a rose, which is completely reflected in her personality. As roses are used commonly in formal and elegant occasions, she was regal as well, almost queen-like. She always carried herself confidently, standing tall with an air of pride. She never entered a room loudly, always stepping and speaking lightly, but always making an entrance. Mammaw always had the best manners and held herself and her family to set of high moral conduct. There were rules in Mammaw's house, and those rules were not to be broken.
But as roses are elegant, they always have thorns. Mammaw had a zesty flair to her; a side of sassiness that could never quite be replicated. On one of our last trips to see her, Steven and I rode our tandem bike over two mountains to the picturesque valley of Belleville. Upon hearing that, as she was laying in bed with the effects of cancer apparent, she grimaced and said, "There's something the matter with you!" She always had a wit to make us laugh, and it was usually during the most unexpected moments.
As rose petals are beautiful, they had nothing on Mammaw. From her curly white hair; to those precious, playful baby blues; to the soft, perfect skin; to her hands that had worked so hard- everything about her was gorgeous. Upon meeting her, one could never grasp really how beautiful she was, like a flower that has not yet bloomed. But after time, everyone who knew her saw what was reflected on the outside, as all beauty begins from within.
And just like roses are a symbol of love, I don't believe there has been one person I've known who has loved more than Dorothy Runk. She loved her family deeper than any of us could ever comprehend and sincerely only wanted the best for us. She was never happier than when we stopped by for a visit, even if she hadn't been feeling well for weeks. And because of that love, she prayed for us day in and day out, trusting our souls to Jesus and realizing the best thing she could do is love. And she did that very, very well.
My grandmother passed away in July at the ripe age of 85 after an eight-week battle with uterine cancer. I know we all miss her deeply and it's very hard to overcome our grief from losing the best woman we knew. But just as the note from my uncle said, we will always remember that she is with us, for she will forever be our beautiful rose.
