Carry

"Carry" is a word my maternal grandmother used a lot. A nurse in a small Mississippi town, Mamaw would carry people to the hospital. She even had a spiffy maroon Barracuda with a fold down seat that she used to transport the sick to the local emergency room before the advent of reliable ambulance service.

Mamaw would also carry food to the sick and bereaved. She carried the "old people" who were often younger than SHE was, to the doctor, the grocery store, and to church.

My mother was my grandmother's only child. She was a nurse as well, and inherited the "carry" gene. Before she became chronically ill, Mama carried people to the doctor and the grocery store. Even after Mama became quite ill, if she heard about an illness or death in our circle of community and friends, she would get out of bed, cook, and carry food.

My sister and I are third generation "carriers." With two children and a full time job, my sister is mostly a food carrier. She may not cook all her food from scratch, but she knows where the best takeout is.

And I am a carrier. It is just in my nature. I carry people to the doctor and the hospital. I carry food, usually homemade, to the sick and bereaved. I get more stressed at the thought of NOT being able to do these things than I ever get at DOING them.

I really feel like carrying is in my blood. Being able to do this honors the memories of both my mother and my grandmother. This apple did not fall far from the tree.

So, I carry. And carry on.