Growing up in Kentucky, I can remember being so excited when my grandmother from Georgia, I called her Mamaw Tiny, came for a visit. She came in with this gigantic white case full of frost eyeshadows, mostly in every shade of blue, seventeen different mascaras, blue eyeliner, and the pinkest blush that would make any circus clown envious. I’d sit Indian style and watch her pick up every single piece and put it on. And I wanted to be just like her.
To me, she was so beautiful.
She always had her hair fixed just so. And her makeup was always done. She was ready for anything, at anytime. A real southern belle.
As I got older and started wearing makeup, she and I would sit for hours and bond over each other’s collection. We’d even trade. A lot.
When she suddenly passed away a few years ago, the first place I went was to her vanity. Her makeup, brushes, hair products, curling iron were right where she’d left them. And even though I’d been riding in a car for 6 hours to get to Atlanta, I found myself sitting in her chair and laying over her vanity. My sobbing was uncontrollable. I was a younger version of her in every way. We loved the exact same things. And I could not imagine life without her. And I still miss her everyday.
Sometimes while I’m putting on my makeup, I can’t help but smile because I catch myself wanting to call her and tell her about the new blush I bought, or the mascara that’s so waterproof that it stays on for days. Lol. I’d give anything to trade with her one more time.
The main lesson I learned from her is beauty comes from within. In her words, “Makeup helps though.”