Remembering Momma Gould

From left to right: My mom, Kim; sister, Courtney; great-grandmother, Momma Gould; grandmother, Mimi; and me; Christmas 2009

I am a product of my surroundings. Anything good about me comes from those who loved and covered me, teaching me what they know. I've been blessed to be guided by a loving family and generations who I can look to and hope to mimic. One such inspiration was my great-grandmother, Momma Gould.

In a word, Momma Gould was feisty. She carried with her an infectious energy and joy, as well as an undeniable confidence — never taking no for an answer. A year ago today, she passed away at 93, but she packed those 93 years full of love and laughter.

When she was younger, Momma Gould rode a horse to school. It was rare for students to have that ability, and she always told her story highlighting that fact. However, she would refused to ride sidesaddle, as was expected of girls at the time. No, Momma Gould rode her horse "like the boys do, with one leg on either side," she used to tell my sister and me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. You could tell that she took pride in bucking traditions. She preferred to ride that way, so she did. One day upon her arrival, she spotted a handsome young man across the schoolyard. She leaned over and asked her friend who he was. "Oh, that's Bobby Woods, but he's going steady with someone." But Momma Gould never met a "no" she wouldn't side step and quickly made him her boyfriend and, later on, loving husband.

For her 85th birthday, she did something she'd always wanted to do. This time it wasn't a horse she rode — it was a motorcycle. Upon arriving at a local restaurant for her birthday lunch, she'd noticed several Harley Davidsons in the parking lot. While eating, she casually mentioned how beautiful they were and that she'd always wanted to ride one — making sure it was loud enough to reach the pack of bikers dining a few tables over. One volunteered to drive her up and down the highway in front of the restaurant, and, with Momma Gould on the back holding on tightly, the pair did just that. To commemorate the event, she was gifted a figurine of an old woman on a motorcycle, which she kept in her room in the nursing home; she made sure to tell that story to everyone she met.

My great-grandmother, grandmother, mom and I all share the same middle name, Marie. I used to joke how I could see where I'd be several generations down the line and how frightening that was. Now I hope that with that middle name comes all of the good qualities of the generations before me. I hope to inherit my Momma Gould's spunk, her unquenchable zest for life and love of family.