Mrs. Margaret Loraine Mote Harmison, age 85 of Cedartown, passed away on Wednesday, December 30, 2020. She was born on February 23, 1935. She was the daughter of the late Miligan and Dora Beatrice Ward Mote.
The warm summer wind would whip around in the cab of my dad's truck, putting tangles in my hair. Sometimes, I would get to ride in the truck bed and that only added to the excitement. It was always a fun ride, but the destination was the prize: Granny's.
I remember those late in the evening trips to Granny's. Topping the hill on Tuck Street, the mailbox popping into view, then the roses and tulips, then the giant purple Clematis vine, the big pine tree Granny hated because it leaned to far over her property line, the monkey grass that surrounded the driveway and finally, the thick gobs of mint plants at the back door.
To this day, the smell of fresh mint brings back short flashes of visits to Granny's. I could help myself to the mini ice cream sandwiches, but she'd only let me have one pickle because the salt would dry my blood up, she said. Granny also loved the Schwan man and kept the fridge well stocked with their mini pizzas. One of her last texts to me was inviting me over for one of those pizzas. I don't remember if I was able to make it, but I hope to God that I took the time.
Each glass of sweet tea consumed in my adult life was always judged against the tea Granny used to make. It was the perfect mix of water, tea, sugar and ice. Served up early on in my life in amber glasses etched with bundles of wheat, then later in glasses trimmed in pink and mint green. We had Sunday dinners together many times. I can't recall what she made but I do remember my dad and aunt begging her to sit down and eat. She hardly ever did. She was too busy up and doing things and when she did light at the table for a minute, she would be too busy talking to even eat. She was opinionated. We will leave it at that.
She hated it when we left. "Oh, y'all don't rush off and leave," she would say. And of course, we'd rush off and leave because we were busy and had things to do and Granny would walk down the driveway as we backed out, waving and blowing kisses and giving last minute instructions on driving the speed limit and watching for trains. And then one day you realize you don't remember the last time you saw Granny do this, and that's the thing about last times -- you rarely realize when they are taking place until they have long gone.
Her chicken soup could make me feel better with one slurp and I could kick myself for not getting her to write down the recipe. She had the prettiest handwriting, and it made me sick to my stomach when I learned she could no longer write.
She was a maker. She would make crafty little things, some I still have today. She enjoyed showing off picture frames she made from Kleenex boxes most recently. A bargain hunter - she loved yard sales. She bought me a pair of ice skates at a yard sale once for $2. I took a chunk out of my parents' linoleum floor trying to do a fancy spin. But Granny knew I would like them.
She and grandpop had a huge van. A Chevy Mark III. It had a TV in it and my cousins and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Grandpop bought a tag for the front of the van that said "Chuck -n- Margie." Embarrassing for a 13 year old. My 40 year old self now thinks it's endearing. I was in the marching band in high school. They drove that van to nearly every one of football games for three years to watch me march. Granpop once jumped the curb at the Taco Bell in that van because he didn't want to wait in line. It made Granny scream, "Chuck!!!" and cracked me up. The things you remember most aren't always the big things.
Growing up, I knew she hated traveling, especially by plane, but she and grandpop were the most well-traveled people I knew. Hawaii, Los Angeles, New York City ... for someone that hated it, she sure did like it. Granny had an old green swing set in the backyard that I think belonged to my Uncle Chris. I never met him. He died young. But me and Granny would swing on the two seater and she'd say, "Where are we going?!" and I would yell out a city. I caught myself playing that game with my oldest daughter last week.
She loved roses and angels, Jesus and The Gaithers and Anthony Burger. She loved music. I woke up three weeks ago with the song, "Till the Storm Passes By," in my head. Constantly. Loud. Almost all day for several days. My Granny sang that song at church often. I was worried that it was a sign that Granny's time was short and I suppose I was right. My aunt told me she played that song for her in the hospital and that she shouted, "Praise the Lord." I haven't had that earworm since.
After years of wishing for a great grand baby, she got to hold and play with and feed my oldest daughter. She shared a Brown Cow ice cream with her once and they both got tickled. She got to rub my pregnant belly when we were all surprised with my youngest daughter's impending arrival. She got to hold her, too.
She had a nick name for me: Lucy Jane. I don't know where that came from, but she called me that a lot. I remember the day I called her at the nursing home and told her it was Lucy Jane calling. And I remember how awful I felt when it confused her and I had to explain about my nick name, but she still remembered what she told us grandkids all the time: "I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck."
All these little snapshots make up the portrait of my Granny as I remember her. My grandmother, Margaret Harmison, passed away on December 30, 2020, to something much better than what can be found here on earth. Better than her sweet tea and chicken soup, better than swing set trips to fancy cities, better than anything she could have imagined. Those of you who knew my Granny knew how she missed my grandfather so. And those of you who knew my grandfather knew how much he loved Granny.
When she got really sick for the second time, I got this very calming, reassuring feeling that she was ready and would leave on December 30th. Calm feelings and the word death don't usually go together I know. But December 30 is my Granny and Grandpop's wedding anniversary. And I just knew that he'd be waiting on her -- looking for her -- ready to show her all around her new home.
My Granny was a Godly woman that loved her family above everything else. If she could have had us all, kids and grandkids, live under one roof with her and Grandpop, I'm sure she would have. Did she worry about us? Of course, as any good grandparent would. But it was more than that. She wanted to protect us from a crazy and dangerous world - a world that, as I get older and have a child of my own, I realize she was more right about than I ever wanted to admit. It must be amazing for her to now be in Heaven, able to see the full picture of God's plan and love for us. I'll always cherish my time with her - holidays and other random times - either enjoying her good cookin g or getting it from Petro's. Those times were full of joy and laughter. I know it's the same kind of care-free joy and laughter that she is experiencing now.
Mrs. Harmison is survived by her son, Noel Harmison (Jennifer); daughter, Theresa Packer (Harold); grandchildren, Michael Packer (Amanda), Aimee Madden (Britt), John Packer (Anna); great-grandchildren, Anna Madden, Violet Packer and Lily Beatrice Madden. Several nieces, nephews and other extended family members also survive.
Mrs. Harmison is preceded in death by her husband, Charles (Chuck) Noel Harmison Sr.; her parents, and 12 brothers and sisters.
A private graveside service will be held for Mrs. Harmison's immediate family.
The following gentlemen will serve as honorary pallbearers: Michael Packer, Britt Madden Jr. and John Packer.
Flowers are being accepted however memorial donations may be made to the Disabled Veterans Association at, dav.org.
Messages of condolences can be made to the family by visiting our website and signing the online guestbook at gammagefh.com.
The Olin L. Gammage and Sons Funeral Home is handling the arrangements for Mrs. Margaret Loraine Mote Harmison.
