Jennie Louise Turbyfill Boltin

Hello again. Lately I have had much to say. Unfortunately, my abundance of words is due to sadness and a certain flood gate of emotions that has been opened. I wish it could be under different circumstances. But they are thoughts nonetheless. Thoughts that I wish to share with you because they concern people that you deserve to learn about and hopefully understand the impact they had on my life.

Meet Jennie Louise Turbyfill Boltin, born in Columbia, South Carolina 91 years ago. She was the daughter of the late Arthur and Lottie O. Parr Turbyfill. Nana grew up alongside the Great Depression, WWII, the Cold War, Vietnam, and many more history book happenings. She welcomed in a new century, the 21st century. She left soft, yet evident fingerprints on the lives of her five siblings, two children, ten grandchildren, eighteen great-grandchildren, eight great-great-grandchildren, and any other human being that she came in contact with.

I am fortunate enough to have been one of those eighteen great-grandchildren on the receiving end of her unconditional love. She was present at every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner that I can remember and always responsible for the perfectly cut, Honey-baked Ham placed in the middle of the table. She never missed a birthday. She noticed every new freckle that landed on my nose. I could always count on a good back-scratch if I was ever in a room with her for more than five minutes. (If you know me, you know that back scratches are my favorite thing on this planet.) All of these things may seem like small, insignificant things to someone who never knew my Nana. But you are very wrong. These were all puzzle pieces (she loved puzzles too) that when fit together, showcased an extravagant woman who left a trail of Pound cake and great wisdom wherever she chose to go. 

My last days with Nana were very memorable. It was in the guest room of my Granny's house in Yemassee that I watched her drift off into a state of eternal happiness. That may sound depressing and you are probably wondering why anyone would want to remember their loved one's like that. But she was still the same ole Nana. She still wanted her head full of luscious, stark-white hair to be scratched and she wanted to be surrounded by those she loved at all times. One of my favorite things to do was to hold her hands. I am not exaggerating when I say that they were the softest hands I have ever felt. Ask any one of my family members and they would agree with me. I dare you. They were hands that had provided for her family, mended broken hearts, written love letters, and planted seeds in the lives of those surrounding her that would at some point, germinate and leave a life-long impact of some kind. Of course it was difficult to see her in an unimaginable amount of pain and it was even harder to admit to myself that there was nothing I could do to make it subside. But I was also excited for her at the same time. For in a short amount of time, she would be reunited with Poppy. Her soulmate. Her last name sake. And although my eyes fill with tears every time I think about the fact that the oldest member of our family and the one responsible for holding us together most of the time is no longer with us, I know that Poppy must be overjoyed to hold her in his arms again. 

I will see you again soon Nana. Pinky Promise. Make room for all of us up there and make sure to share your Pound cake. They deserve a little slice of heaven too. I love you to the moon and back.