I was raised on the water. Living on Skidaway Island in Savannah, Ga., my fondest memories smell of murky marsh soil and sound like cicadas serenading the setting sun. I spent my childhood running on bare feet through my neighborhood, catching squareback marsh crabs with my brother and driving 35 minutes to the beach on Saturdays with my dad. But of my many adolescent memories in coastal Georgia, those that sing the loudest, smell the sweetest and wash over me like waves on the shore are the ones with my grandmother.
My Dede, known to the commoners as Deanne Wigh, passed away on Feb. 12. Dede was the first of my relatives to pass away — and I recognize the incredible privilege and luck I have in stating that fact. While dealing with a loss of this kind for the first time, I’ve turned to an age-old remedy: music.
Dede was a devoted and perhaps the only fan of my long-running music column, Cat’s Collection. After every print edition, she would send me notes about the newest installment of my column. From compliments to constructive criticism, she was never afraid to share her thoughts. After a year of hearing her comments, I developed an understanding of her music taste. To my surprise, Dede really loved Harry Styles.
While Dede’s favorite Styles song was “Sign of the Times” (2017), I have chosen to dedicate another track from his self-titled debut album to her: “Sweet Creature” (2017).
“Sweet Creature” opens with a soft, evocative acoustic guitar. Like falling into a freshly made bed, the repetitive chord progression eases the listener into the song. Styles soon enters with a powerful but soft crooning: “Sweet creature / Had another talk about where it’s going wrong.”
While “Sweet Creature” begins with a lyric about misdeeds, the track is ultimately about empathy, humility, forgiveness and grace — all virtues I learned from my grandmother. When the girls at school were unkind, Dede never let me hold a grudge. When I lost a basketball game, she never let me pout or hiss. She just hugged me and told me to try again and try better.
When Dede was diagnosed with cancer in July, she didn’t let me cry or yell or beg for a reason. She just sat outside in the sun and asked about my day at work. In both her behavior and language — always executed with impeccable grammar and absurd refinery — she reminded me that life is scary, unfair and often unpredictable. You control only one thing: yourself.
“You are the keeper of your own soul,” Dede said.
Unlike most who grow up seeing grandparents only at Christmas, I had the privilege of spending countless nights at my grandparent's house. Even now, 21 years later, it is the first place I go when I return to Savannah. It is my home as much as my own on Little Comfort Road — and it helps that it’s only three minutes away.
The painted rocks on the counter, the storybooks in the drawers and the markings of my growth on the kitchen door are a testament to the time I spent learning, loving and laughing under the adoring gaze of my grandparents. Every night, Dede sang me “Edelweiss” (1959) from “The Sound of Music” and rubbed my back until I fell asleep. As Styles sings in “Sweet Creature,” she and I were “two hearts in one home.”
As mentioned above, I grew up on the water — specifically the marsh. My grandparent’s house faced west, and on particularly beautiful nights, Dede and I would sneak through the neighbor’s shrubbery and emerge on the sandy edge of a golf course. On either side, we were surrounded by palm trees, open air and the unmistakable briney smell of marsh water. Here, we watched the sun paint the sky with streaks of orange, yellow and pink. When the show ended and the sky grew dark, she would take my hand and guide me back to her red front door. Although not the exact scenery, the lyric “Running through the garden / Oh, where nothing bothered us,” from “Sweet Creature” will always remind me of those nights.
“Sweet Creature” culminates in an emotional chorus as Styles sings, “Sweet creature, sweet creature / Wherever I go, you bring me home / Sweet creature, sweet creature / When I run out of road, you bring me home.”
While Dede is physically gone, I know she remains ever-present. I will hear her in my mother and sister’s laughter. I will see her in the creases and folds of every sunset. And I will hopefully never taste her unseasoned chicken again. It is because of her that I carry love everywhere, cover my mouth after I curse, and know that wherever I go, I can always return to the open arms of my family and the relentless humidity of Savannah.
Dede, “Wherever I go, you bring me home.”
