As part of sorting through items so we know what to keep and what to toss, Sandra has been going through the thousands of photos we have taken and maintained throughout our married years. She has found a ton of photos of our kids when they were small, and we have a starry host of pictures of our grandkids.

But the other day, she came across a picture that nearly drowned me in a flood of memories. The photo was of my grandmother – Granny – with my four children seated around her. Michael, my youngest, looks around five, and Sara, my oldest, appears about 13 or 14.

I never had the opportunity to know any of my great-grandparents. All eight of them had passed away before I was born. Yet, my children got to know and interact with one of their great-grandmas.

Granny had a profound impact on my life. I loved her dearly – and the memories I have of her are still precious today. I have always been grateful that my children had the chance to know her.

Granny was born on Feb. 22, 1909. She passed away on Feb. 5, 1995 – just a few days shy of her 86th birthday. When she passed away, Sara was 22, Rachel was 20, Lydia was 18, and Michael was a few days away from turning 14.

My children got to know Granny before the onset of her Alzheimer’s. They had the opportunity to taste the gravy, cakes, and pork chops she was famous for cooking—famous, at least, in our family and in her neighborhood. They saw her constant sip coffee from her special cup. I got my love for coffee honest.

Granny was one of the kindest people I have ever known. She had a deep faith in Christ and regularly attended her church until she became bedridden. Sandra and I spent our honeymoon at her house.

When Sara was born, my mom and dad drove down from Ohio to meet us at Granny’s house. I can still see my dad asleep on Granny’s bed with his hand in the bassinet, the tiny fingers of Sara’s right hand wrapped around one of his fingers.

Granny was a like a child magnet – kids drew close to her. When my brother John and I were young, we spent several summers at Granny and Grandaddy’s house. Aunt Judy – five years younger than me – and my first cousins Ricki, Susan, and Sandra played in Granny’s yard together. We ran, laughed, and hollered our way through the summer days.

But when we entered her house, we knew the rules – and we obeyed them. All of us – except John – had experienced the consequences on our little behinds of not following her rules. She was not brutal – but she was consistent. The severity of the punishment was not what kept us in line – the certainty of that punishment worked its wonders. Her consistent expectations made us love her more.

When I think of Granny, the words of Lewis Grizzard’s song “Grandma Willie’s Yard” come to mind:

“We laid Grandma to rest / By that little Baptist church / Where she sang for the Lord / All her days. / I wiped the tears from my face / And drove back to Grandma’s place / For one last walk through Grandma’s yard. / And a thought came to me / As I parked my car. / I have seen the world / In Grandma Willie’s yard: / The desert plain / The Spanish Main / And the changing of the guard. / I chased a thousand outlaws there / And I whipped them long and hard / When as a child I saw the world / Through Grandma Willie’s yard.”

As I gazed into that photo from long ago, I wondered what memories my children have of Granny and her yard.

Mike Parker is a columnist for the Neuse News. You can reach him at mparker16@gmail.com.