"Mom, what was Grandma's real mother's name?" came the query over the internet from my daughter Julie, who lives in Tennessee. It is family history that my mom's mother died when Mama was only 6 weeks old. Her mother was a young wife of 18 when she was found unresponsive by her best friend while my infant future mother lay bundled on the bed.
All this happened in east Tennessee, just an hour from our daughter's present home. A drive through the area she had heard of all her life prompted her questions. I gave her my grandmother's name, although I had to reflect a bit to recall it. Mama was raised by her stepmother, never knowing any other mother, and this lady was Grandma to us, although we saw her very infrequently, due to distance.
After this, came the question, "Where was she buried?" I only knew it must have been near the area in Tennessee where my mother lived until she was 12 years old, when her family relocated to west Texas. I remembered that many years ago Mama and some of her siblings drove the 1,000+ mile journey back to visit the family cemetery. I gave her the info I had, then a post from my brother detailed exactly where the grave site was: the name of the cemetery, the road it is on, and the county in Tennessee.
All efforts to follow through with this data led to a dead end. (No pun intended!) It seems many years ago work by the TVA (Tennessee Valley Authority) inundated many cemeteries, and some of the graves had to be relocated. A list of over 1,000 names and their locations were pored over by Julie and myself. Many names familiar to me from my mother's reminiscences appeared, but not the one we were seeking. Then followed a list of graves which were not moved. We struck out there, too.
Unless we find out more from other descendants living in Texas, this mystery will apparently remain unsolved. The sad, romantic saga remains a source of fascination to younger relatives. My young, biological grandmother was said to be having fainting spells following the birth of my mother. Friends were taking turns staying with her, which is why her best friend, my future stepmother, had come over.
Some say the new mother had been popping popcorn over the fire in the fireplace. The thinking was that she fainted, for she was lying in the fireplace when found. Other stories have sprung up about her beauty, her place of privilege in her family, and the hand sewn, monogrammed clothing she wore. Though her picture has been lost, I remember a portrait of an ordinary-looking girl with resemblances to our family.
The new baby was put into the charge of her grandparents, Grandpa's parents. This is part of the intrigue of the story. After three years, when Grandpa married his late wife's best friend, he wanted his daughter back. The red-haired tot had become endeared to her grandparents, and they refused to give her up. With a sweet, titian-haired granddaughter of my own, I can imagine their feelings. She had become their world. Nevertheless, after a court battle, she went home with her father, whom she adored all her life.
We may never find Grandma, but we can rest assured Mama has found her mother. David says after the death of his baby son, "I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me," 2 Samuel 12:23. What a wonderful meeting all believers will have in Heaven someday! Mama lived her old-time religion, a joyous saint for all of us who follow after!
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