I give thanks today for an aunt who kept old family pictures, a cousin who knew how to put them on a thumb drive, and a daughter who knew how to take them off and send them to me. Included is this cherished picture of lifelong friends who became my great-grandmothers. Virgie Berry is on the left and Anna Hannah on the right.
Susanna Frances Livingston (Anna) and Virginia Katherine Adams (Virgie) were born and grew up on neighboring hills in Oktibbeha County, Mississippi. They became best friends in early childhood with the relationship growing stronger as they attended their country school together. Over the years, their lives carried such a parallel that family members came to expect that any major occurrence with one forebode a similar experience with the other.
Anna and Virgie finished the eight grades offered by the small community school, and both married while still in their teens – Anna to her former teacher Erskine Hannah and Virgie to Dan Berry. Their husbands farmed on nearby hills, and the women’s friendship continued. Both lost infants to childhood diseases close to the same time. Each of the women went on to have big families with their children reflecting the friendships of their parents. In a happy occurrence, Anna’s son Erskine, Jr. and Virgie’s daughter Ada fell in love and got married. They would have seven children, including my mother who was Anna’s first grandchild. She called the two friends “Grandma Hannah” and “Grandma Berry.”
Following their pattern, Anna and Virgie were widowed close to the same time. Virgie became dependent on her grown children and later her grandchildren, spending her life with first one and then the other. Anna lived independently for a number of years but other family members, including my young adult mother, shared her home from time to time as it suited their needs until Anna was needed in Memphis to be a home presence for her recently widowed daughter’s middle schooler. For the first time, Virgie and Anna were separated, but letters flowed freely, covering everything – how their gardens grew, what their shared grandchildren were up to, and their grief over Ada’s death.
This was the state of affairs when I was born into the family. My father, who was in charge of naming daughters, looked at the situation. He decided that my grandmothers were both dead and their names could be saved for a later daughter. These two great-grandmothers were up in age and might not live much longer. It made sense, he thought, to name me for them while they were still able to know they were honored – hence Virginia Ann.
The great-grandmothers were part of my early life, and I saw their contrast as well as their friendship. From my first memories, Grandma Berry seemed old. She ended every visit with, “If I don’t see you on this side again, I’ll see you on the other.” I thought she longed to be on that other side. Gram, with her name lovingly shortened by that middle school granddaughter, talked about whatever she anticipated next in life. Her attitude seemed to be, “Heaven is my home, but I’m not homesick yet.” Apparently, she forgot that she was supposed to be growing old.
Virgie and Anna fooled Daddy by living another fifteen years after my birth, and yes, they died within six months of each other. They were eighty-nine.