Jean.

I only knew her 16 years.

Yet, I have felt like she kept going into all the seasons of life with me. It’s funny how at every milestone I would wonder if she could see it somehow.

Did she see the beauty pageants and dance recitals? What did she think of Cody? Did she laugh at my fit that I threw to have a wedding outside only for it to be a monsoon the day of the wedding?

It’s weird how with every passing year I keep hoping to bump into someone who knew Mrs. Jean.

Sometimes when someone tells me they knew her it catches my breath. It stops me right there. I simply can’t move any further without hanging on for dear life to the stories that they still tuck away in their closets. The ones of the moments where she did something that marked them and for many, changed their lives.

It’s been 15 years and my body feels loss on October 18th every.single.year. I am hungry, desperate even, to just hear someone tell me what they knew about her. What they loved. For one of my childhood friends to call her “Mama Jean” because I did and they didn’t know any different.

The day I was born my parents changed my middle name to Jean. To match hers.

I was her caboose, the youngest of her 8 grandchildren and the surprise to everyones century and system when I came out 100% opposite personality of each soul on that side of the family.

Tall, lanky, loud, expressive, and very verbal.

She was small in frame and height. Poised. Quiet. Sharp. Bold. Graceful.

Whiskey in a tea cup.

The most charming, delicate, and incredible on the outside.

But bold, fiery, fierce and a true leader within.

Every now and then you felt that burn on the inside when she told you hard truths that you needed to hear.

She once spewed the fire of hell on a man in Sunday school for making an ill comment about his wifes weight just a few months after she had given birth to their second child. The wife dismissed herself to the restroom mid class and my grandmother decided that was the time he would find his salvation all over again, just as soon as she was finished letting him know what hell truly felt like.

I hope when I get to heaven, God gives me a replay of that moment. It still gives me enough adrenaline to run a few miles. She was FIRE.

On her last days, she sat in a hospital bed and my uncle made the mistake of letting one the elders of the church come into see her….without her lipstick on.

He almost lost his life right then and there.

She was a true believer in silk pajamas and bought me a new pair every year on my birthday shopping sprees whether I asked for them or not.

“You must be ready every day, morning or night, you must always be ready.”

And yes, she said those words to me smack in the middle of Limited Too. And she meant it.

I found out later, she meant you need to look like a million bucks everywhere because you deserve it. Also, Jesus could be coming back soon, don’t look like trash when He does.

For years I experienced her as the grandmother who showed up to every event, play, game, recital, everything. She always came with gifts or flowers and made no show of herself giving these gifts. She was sharp and witty and quick.

She had zero qualms telling the exact truth and for some that was terrifying.

But for us, it was her…and Jean without direct conversation —- now that was terrifying.

If my cousins or I spotted her across a room we could walk towards her dancing and she would immediately join the party. Letting her best dance moves show…. but only for us.

I can still see her now. Her gray hair, curled to perfection dancing directly towards the people she treasured most.

She went to meet Jesus when I was only 16.

I had just gotten my car and I was ecstatic about it. A gray VW Passat with a CD player. I was thrilled.

She told me 5x over while sitting with her on her hospital bed that I better thank my mama for the hard work she put in researching that car.

That day, as I got up to leave she grabbed my hand while laying there and said , “Come pick me up when I get outta here. We will ride all over The Waters and we can turn the music up too loud and roll down the windows.”

That was our last conversation and to this day , I know she would’ve risked humiliation just for her odd ball, caboose grand-baby.

Years after she passed I wound up at a college in my home town. In the middle of the school year I opted for a new roommate and moved in with a friend who was finally home from studying abroad.

She was loud and spunky and even more verbal than me.

Because so many people from my home church worked at this University, everyone there called me Laura Jean.

My grandmother made sure of it when I came to church as a kid. She called me Laura but made sure Laura Jean is what the church called me.

This roomie of mine started calling me Jean Bean as a nickname. It was hilarious and such a quirky thing that she and I shared. But, after a couple of months she dropped the ‘bean’ and just called me Jean.

Jean.

It’s a name I carry with honor.