You want something to cry about?

Irene. Mom. Sister. Cousin. Foster mom. Aunt Irene. Renie. Great-grandma...She was known by so many names to so many people. But I called her Grandma.

I remember Grandma for her love, her heavy hand, her mac and cheese, her molasses cookies—and we can’t forget her potty mouth.

Grandma was so special, and probably one of the most influential people in my life. She made sure that every single person who walked through her door chewed with their mouth closed, kept their elbows off the table, put the toilet seat down, and—if necessary—she gave us something to cry about. Grandma was structured, predictable, and didn’t hold her tongue.

I can still remember our schedule from when I was four years old in her daycare, because it was always the same. We played all morning. TV was only allowed closer to lunchtime, and even then, we were only allowed to watch Sesame Street in the living room so she could prep lunch for us.

There were lots of us, so we had to eat in shifts. We always started with a sandwich and then moved to the main course—mac and cheese, SpaghettiOs, soup, or something similar. There were always two to four high chairs in the kitchen, where she would take turns feeding babies while feeding us.

Side note: She was so used to having lots of people to feed that she never quite got over shopping for an army—evidenced by the mass amounts of napkins, toilet paper, and butter we found in the farmhouse when she moved.

Consistency continued after lunch, when we all napped in separate parts of the house. Kids were everywhere—except the living room, because that’s where she watched Days of Our Lives at 12:30. Sometimes, if we finished lunch early, we got a treat: those wafer cookies in pink, orange, and brown, or the windmill-shaped ones. That was special—because Grandma didn’t spoil anyone.

Grandma maintained control with her no-nonsense discipline. We knew she loved us—even when she was disciplining us. She didn’t get angry; she just corrected. Grandma made it her business to make sure we had manners: Please. Thank you. Sit up straight. Take your hands out of your pockets. These were daily reminders. When I was five, we moved away from Grandma, but my bond with her never changed.

As I got older, I started helping with daycare. That’s when I really got to know the other side of Grandma.

“Look at that little shit,” she’d say about a kid she was about to tell to stop throwing sand. Or, “Ya dumbshit, I bet you won’t do that again,” she'd say about a kid who fell off a toy they were using the wrong way. Of course, she always corrected them—so they knew not to do it again.

I loved being with her, seeing her, and talking to her. She would share so many stories. One I remember in particular was about my dad:

“We can’t do this nowadays, but I remember putting your dad to sleep in this chest when he was a baby. We were at so-and-so’s house, and that’s where he slept—in the chest… man, that was dumb. The top could have fallen and he would have suffocated. Different times though.”

I remember learning why she started daycare. Apparently, there were a few of us in carriers (I believe me, Robb, and Cheryl), and she figured she could watch kids. I also remember learning that she earned her GED in her 60s. Every time I talked to Grandma, I learned something.

I loved being in her presence so much that, as a teenager, I’d just drive to stay with her because I missed her. I didn’t tell anyone—I just went to Grandma’s and called my mom once I got there. And of course, she let me stay.

As an adult, I realized just how much she influenced me. I hear her voice in my head at times saying, “What a dumbshit,” or “Chew with your mouth closed. Push the chair in. I’ll give you something to cry about.”But most importantly, I remember her being present, loving (sometimes with a firm hand), and strong.

I will miss her smart-mouth remarks and her frequent cussing. Malachi’s memory of Great-Grandma is her swearing repeatedly when she set off the alarm trying to get out of bed.

All of us have memories of this woman. My mom was questioned about her religion before Grandma even asked her name...

Anyway, hold on to those memories tightly. Remember her in those moments of strength and stubbornness—because that is who she was. She was strong, fearless, and unashamed. She showed me that you can be a strong woman who takes care of the people she loves. She modeled consistency and power in ways no one else will ever replicate.

Rest in Heaven, Grandma.I will always love you and be grateful for the time I had with you. I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time to say goodbye, and I pray you know where my heart was.Please don’t give Jesus a hard time in Heaven… though I’m sure you’ve made vast improvements already.