She was raised in the swamps on Louisiana by a French conservative mother and a simple small town American Cajun father.

She was the youngest of four siblings and according to her, pretty spoiled by her daddy… not spoiled materially, but with her father’s affections.

My grandma was a great story teller. She always had wonderful stories about her adventures as a child - from trapping muskrats for their oil to shrimping on the Bayou with her dad.

My grandma escaped death many times and, in fact, was given the last sacrament twice growing up. But Doris was a stubborn lady… a fighter… a survivor… and she would never do anything before she was good and ready.

Grandma was very animated when she told a tale, and if you’ve ever heard my brother or I tell a story you can tell that the art of embellishment must be genetic in our family.
It is like an unspoken family philosophy that if what you had to say didn’t have everyone on the edge of their seat or laughing to the point of tears, then why say it.

My grandma loved to be entertained as much as she entertained us for so many years. Doris loved music. She is the only person I know that despite the changing times and the different music we listened to growing up she loved it all.

It must have been the rich Cajun culture influence, because if one of us came near her with some music playing, my grandma would start tapping her foot, clapping her hands and eventually doing a little dance which would make us all smile.

Another memory of my grandma is that she had an eye for handsome men. I remember she told me the story of how she met grandpa. She said that she was working in a restaurant where all the sailors would come in. She said when she saw grandpa she said, “Oo-la-la!” She said he had this gorgeous dark brown hair with this little curl that came down, and she was instantly smitten. She said that although he was with a date, she gave him the eye the whole time to let him know she was interested.  Although he was resistant to her advances at first she keep feeding him, kept cooking and he fell in love with her cooking and that got her way.

I feel so blessed to have been Doris Burley’s granddaughter.  In the many valleys of my life, my grandmother represented tradition.  She connected me to my heritage and made me feel safe.  She gave us all the things we could count on, like the best potato salad you have ever eaten… to deviled eggs perfectly sprinkled with paprika and a slice of sweet pickle on top.

My fondest memory when I was little was fighting with my sisters on who was going to get to spend the night at grandma’s house. Graaaandma’s house. Is there anything more comforting than grandma’s house? First, the smell of grandma’s house, the smell alone made you feel invincible, safe, secure and loved.

For many of us after a long night of wearing every piece of jewelry my grandma owned and clacking around on her hard wood floors in a pair of her heels. Grandma would let us pick out one of her silky night gowns to wear to bed. Then she would tuck us in to the most comfortable bed we ever felt with cool, soft feeling sheets that smelled of her.

In the morning you would be awakened by the smell of grandma’s famous oatmeal, with just the right amount of vanilla and cream and the smell of perfectly buttered toast cut in little triangles.

I remember I would run in the kitchen to find my grandma in what she called ‘her house coat’, which was a robe that zipped from bottom to top.  She would just be putting the last plate of toast on the table and when she saw me come in she would become very excited and start showering me with affection.

There is no better memory from my childhood than those moments.

When I was a teenager, my grandma was always over. I think for many years it was almost every day. When grandma came over, it was automatic, all of us would make ourselves a cup of coffee and sit with her at the table. She would start telling a story from her past. I remember getting lost in her words and forgetting that I was being told a story at all. My mind would take me there to that moment, like I was seeing it first hand, connecting me to my ancestors and making me realize that I was a part of a bigger picture.

The best part of who I am started with my grandma’s love and was continued by my mother. I can only hope to be the kind of mother my mother was to me and the kind of Grandma, Doris was to everyone, not just her grandchildren for she was Grandma Doris to many people.

My Grandma was the glue that held us together. She is what made us all so close to one another. She is what made us… a family.

As grandma’s life began to slow down, what gave her the most joy was sitting with us and hearing the stories we had to tell. Grandma truly enjoyed us all.

As we all grew older and we were living out our own life stories, so grew the distance between us. Some emotional distance and some just physical. Those times together with each other and with our grandma became less frequent. And at times to me, I felt like our family was growing smaller.

I said earlier that grandma never did anything until she was good and ready. As her health began to fail and she grew tired and weary and could no longer do the things that brought her so much joy, she let all of us know that she was ready to say goodbye. But my grandma always liked to have the last word. My mom can testify to that.

What grandma could no longer give us in her living she gave to us in her passing. She brought us all together again… gave us that feeling of closeness and renewed our tradition of story telling around the table… all of us together… a family.  And for that grandma, I thank you.

Thank you for making my world so wonderful.

We all love you so much and we all will miss you dearly.