Lipstick for Lemoyne

By Madison Clapp

What is the name of your lost one and what was your relationship?

My Memaw Lemoyne. My father’s mother. She babied me something awful, as she did all the people she loved. Especially my father. Him being the youngest of her children and the only boy, she’d even take him to get perms with her! And how did she treat everyone with respect to their appetite and food? 

“Oh honey, did you get enough to eat? Go get you some more, now.”

I recall those words being tossed over to us each visit, every day, and always with a shoulder-raising laugh. She loved butter. Anything decadent had her name on it, and for good reason.

She took to joy and expressiveness like a true vaudeville star, too. “When I was younger, I’d’a’given Marilyn a run for her money.” We all knew this resounding line of hers, ‘cause she wouldn’t let us forget it! 

When did you find out, where were you?

I’m sitting on my porch in Austin, TX, writing answers to these questions by candlelight (and a dim overhead). I don’t know where I was when I found out she had passed. I know it was early in November of 2017. My senior year of college. And I recall having received a phone call from my father in August of that year, informing me that she had been diagnosed with Acute Monocytic Leukemia. I remember that call very well. The dinner I stepped away from, the window I opened and the roof I climbed onto. Looking at the night sky, filled with stars in the dark of Ohio, it was pain and quiet tears. But what beauty she retained, and the same sense of humor, right until the end.

But…where was I when I had been told she had passed, with her three children by her side? I really don’t recall.

What surprised you about your own response? 

I didn’t see any of it coming, in a real way, so things went a little sideways for a while. She’d always been my North Star. 

I mean…to this day, I wear a darker-than-not shade of lipstick for Lemoyne. And aren’t I more beautiful for it? I get bunion pains in the wintertime like Lemoyne. And aren’t I more humble for it? (Although she did not have a humble bone in her body, ha!) I protect my loved ones at all costs like Lemoyne. And aren’t we all better off for it? 

I don’t need to know the answers to these questions, and surely neither do you, but how gratifying it can be to carry on qualities, and grand memories, past a life’s wake. How grounding, how beautiful, and how true.

Where do you think they went? How do you feel about the concept of a legacy? Reincarnation? Spirits/souls?

Oh, well…I think she’s at home with Papaw in Knoxville, Tennessee. I think they’re running around the pages of some great novel. Like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, but they’re married and even more exciting rascals. Dancing their way through the world, big emotions, bigger laughter, and all. 

How did you/your family mark the death? Was there a traditional or untraditional ceremony etc and what do you remember most?

We held a memorial service and then a funeral the following morning. My father made sure to have small plastic bags of cookies tied with red bows at the memorial (how she loved feeding people). He delivered his eulogy, and tears welled up in my eyes. He cried and left the stage before he completed his thoughts. His words ring with me to this day.

One story in particular still lingers. The one where Lemoyne once broke up a fight amongst men beating each other with chains in the streets of South Knoxville. I’ve been told she was not shy to use her fists in the face of danger (for herself or anyone she loved), but in this instance she was solely verbal. My father recalled her words from this story in front of the church’s podium:

“‘You boys stop it right now. Stop actin’ ugly and get yourselves home!!’

The thugs were so confused by this little lady with the crazy eyes, they dropped their weapons and did exactly as she said.”

The memorial is what I remember most. My father’s tales about his mother. The kind words of strangers. The funeral, less so. It was the end of an era.

What’s the most annoying or unhelpful thing someone told you when you lost someone? What was the best / most useful / most comforting?

With a grandparent, death seemed to be expected by peers. But what about what her life meant? To me, her children, her whole world. What about what my grandmother meant to my grandfather? He passed away a few days before the first anniversary of her death. He had written me a note for my college graduation (about six months after her passing), thanking me for being there for her in her sickness. He loved her more than life and I learned that then, from the writing scribbled on that napkin. 

The most comforting things people tell me, years after losing Memaw Lemoyne and Papaw, are the stories of their life. I don’t know if I’ve ever received sane guidance on how to navigate grief itself. But the memories, the tales that live on and on—that I could fill novels with—are what comfort me most. 

How do you feel grief today, where does it manifest in your body?

I’ve been told that grief sits in the lungs…but I’m not sure where I believe it resides in the body. Other than the heart, of course!

What is one logistic related to death that surprised you?

My biggest surprise was and still is the difficulty in creating a remembrance equal to the weight and impact of the person’s life. Their personality, vitality, and the depth of their heart. 

Do you have any rituals for your lost one? Can you share a photo?

My lipstick is the most pointed. However, I am often told how I remind people of Lemoyne. My slow, sauntering walk, my feet with their bunions, and my bull-headedness. My dream is to grow more with that, to remember and remember and to live big within this hilarious (and did I say bull-headed!) family tree of ours.

Has grief changed your being, your overall point of view?

I recall being a young child, learning about death for the first time, and figuring that I would cry at my first loss forever and ever, and each one after that, too. How heavy! Although, that was a real fear of mine. I’ve since learned, thankfully, how beautiful it is to regard a person after their time. To carry on their heart, their humor, and the stories of their particularities. That is something I believe doesn’t end. 

What advice would you give someone who just lost someone important to them?

Whatever it is that comes up, it’s okay, reasonable even. And I mean: “whatever it is.”

Do you want to share something from your lost one? A song, a recipe, a saying, etc. 

Broccoli Casserole
1 package frozen, chopped broccoli
½ cup cream-of-mushroom soup
½ cup grated cheddar cheese
1 teaspoon grated onion
1 egg, well-beaten
½ cup mayonnaise (do not use salad dressing) 
Cheese crackers for crumbs*
Salt and pepper to taste

*The “cheese crackers for crumbs” were always one package of Cheez-Its, crushed with a rolling pin. Holy hell, so delicious.