A JOURNAL OF
memories & miracles
“How is your Mama doing?” There is no short answer to that question. But I’m working on the long one and that’s the reason I started writing. It began on Facebook to keep family up to date on her progression. So if you are my friend on Facebook, you may be familiar with some of these posts. Mama has Alzheimer’s. I have become her memory keeper and our roles have reversed. I am now her mother, and she is my daughter. Our love remains strong. Our faith in God is even stronger. My prayer is that recording our journey together will encourage others who walk this path. Even so, some Holy Spirit moments are just beyond words.
Welcome to my blog. My name is Bonnie and I am the daughter.
Latest Posts
Visits with Mama
Eurdis Ann Nail Carter Greer, was born in Carroll County, Mississippi and her childhood days were lived in the small community of Futheyville in Grenada. She is the mother of three daughters who are blessed to call her “Mama.” As the oldest, I was first to learn the lessons by her side as I watched her make a house into a home for her husband and children. She defined the words homemaker and mother with all of her creativity carried into that calling. Years later, her gifts blossomed when she had time for solitude and reflection, spilling prose from her heart to the page. She is a poet and writer whose themes were constant and spoke of home, children, family, prayer and faith in God. She wrote a community column in the local newspaper sharing stories and memories, joys and sorrows. She loves people. And music. And the beauty of nature. And kindness. And most of all, she loves children. Mama made a simple life look so beautiful that I had only one desire for my own life. I wanted what my Mama had— a husband who loved me, children, and a home of my own. Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” We are blessed and we love to tell the story of what that means for today.
Poetry by Eurdis Nail Greer
A collection of southern prose from a tender heart that celebrates life in all it’s stages.
Memories of Daddy
Daddy was a carpenter, a master craftsman, who built houses. I recall hearing more than once that “nobody builds a house better than Bill Carter.” I grew up with the familiar smell of sawdust that he wore after a day laboring, tiny flecks flying from the cuffs of his overalls as he came in the back door and headed to his corner chair, surrounded by his books, until suppertime. Even today, the smell of a recently sharpened pencil can bring back the memory of that smell and the sight of that pencil behind his ear, and his folding wood ruler peaking out from the front bib of his overalls. Daddy worked hard to take care of all his girls— Mama, the love of his life, me, his firstborn and my younger sisters, Cathy and Pat. Mine was an ideal childhood. That was not so for my daddy though and as I grew up among the secrets whispered by the adults, I began to piece together his story and longed to understand this introverted, quiet loner who escaped into the stories of Louis L’amour, Frank Yerby, Frank G. Slaughter, James Michener, James Jones and Mark Twain. He was my hero-my protector, provider, and wise counsel. I never doubted his love or his advice. He was my safe place. I can’t remember when it actually occurred to me that I would one day write his story for him. But I knew I would. It’s funny how life takes a turn. I never dreamed I’d write Mama’s journey first. But it shouldn’t surprise me, because Daddy always made sure Mama got the first and best of everything. Stay tuned for the rest of the story.
Here it is. Again. Every year since 1992 has brought an emotional introspection on this day, the same as the anniversary date of your unexpected departure.