logo-image

Mamma's Letters and Domino Dragons

Lisa Thomas • January 23, 2025

Whenever a death occurs there’s always a cleaning out that follows. It may be a house or apartment, a hospital or nursing home room—maybe even just a closet and a drawer—but somewhere the items that represent that person’s life are tucked safely away, waiting for the day when they will pass to the next generation . . . or Goodwill, whichever is deemed appropriate.


It was that way when my grandfather died, and my step-grandmother eventually remarried. According to his wishes, she was allowed to remain in the home they had shared until her death or remarriage. We loved her dearly and had no problem with her staying. Besides, as long as she was there, we didn’t have to tackle the distribution of personal property and emptying of the family abode. But the day came when she found someone else with whom she wanted to share her life . . . and our reprieve came to an end.


As we all sat in the living room, preparing to claim those items we wanted, I knew there were only two things in that house for which I would ask. I might receive more, but I would have left quite content if I was only given Charlie Weaver’s “Letters from Mamma” and my grandfather’s two volume set of “Lorna Doone”, printed in 1922.


Whenever the family met at my paternal grandparents’ home to share a meal followed by a business discussion, my brother and two cousins would play upstairs while the adults remained at the dining room table, pondering the future. I was in the middle—far too young to understand the facts and figures being tossed about and a hair too old to be running around with the “children”. So, I settled into the rose colored, velvet Victorian horsehair chair that sat next to the fireplace and read “Letters from Mamma” while pulling random strands of horsehair through the velvet. Every. Single. Time. “Lorna Doone” was on the list because my grandfather had always wanted me to read it, but with almost 300 pages of tiny print per book, it was a bit daunting for a pre-teen. I never managed it and that was a failure I desperately needed to correct. (Spoiler alert . . . I still haven’t.)


The process was repeated when my husband’s grandmother died in May of 1992. The actors were different, but the script remained the same. We all gathered in her den and kitchen and began tentatively laying claim to her earthly possessions, with my mother-in-law—her daughter—having first dibs. My Kathryne, who was nine at the time, only had two requests—her grandmother’s hats and her set of Dragon Dominoes. Somehow, she also ended up with “Miss” Emma’s weasel (aka fox) stole (you know, the kind that chases itself around your neck, biting its own tail in order to stay put?). And her square grand piano because “Miss” Emma officially willed it to her as the only female great-grandchild.


The hats had been a source of dress-up joy for years and the dominoes had provided hours of playtime for the two of them. “Miss” Emma loved her great-grandchildren dearly and voluntarily kept my two (her only two at the time) several days a week while I worked. The dominoes were perfect for stacking or standing on end since the corners were sharp, 90-degree angles instead of gently rounded like the ones you find today. And on the back of each one was a carved dragon, curling from one end to the other, his ornate tail arching over his back and his long, pointed tongue hanging from his mouth.


Not long ago, Kathryne and her son—my grandson—Malcolm were at the house. I had recently cleaned out the once inaccessible game closet and moved everything to a new, more user-friendly location. Including the dominoes. She found them and promptly called Malcolm over. Together they opened the box and began setting them up so when they were done, they could lightly tap the first one and watch as each successive domino fell. It was the same thing she had done so many times before with her great-grandmother. And now she could share that joy . . . and that memory . . . with her son while telling him about the great-great-grandmother he would never know. 


I don’t care what people say about material possessions not being important and you don’t need something that belonged to someone you love because you have your memories. That may work for some folks, but not for me (which means I have become the repository for all things ancestorial that no one else wants—sorry, kids). And if ever I needed proof to substantiate my belief in that regard, all I have to do is look at a box of Dragon Dominoes that was purchased years ago from Savannah Drugs. It may not be in the best shape, given the number of little hands that have played with its contents over the years, but it holds five generations of memories. Memories that warm us every time it is opened. 



About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.


By Lisa Thomas March 12, 2025
Some important things to know about James Christopher Harrison: 1. He was known as the Man with the Golden Arm. 2. He saved the lives of over two million infants. 3. He was afraid of needles but . . . 4. He donated blood and/or plasma 1,173 times in his 88 years of life. 5. That life ended on February 17, 2025.
By Lisa Thomas March 6, 2025
We’ve all watched those movies or television shows where the wealthy relative dies and everyone gathers in the lawyer’s office or, better yet, the library in the mansion of the recently deceased—the one with the dark wood paneling, filled with books they never read and overstuffed furniture.
By Lisa Thomas February 27, 2025
Clinton J. Hill, age 93, died at his home in Belvedere, California on Friday, February 21, 2025. He leaves his wife, Lisa McCubbin, whom he married in December of 2021, and two sons, Chris and Corey.
By Lisa Thomas February 20, 2025
Although every arrangement conference is different, any that involve planning some type of service share a few things in common, such as deciding who will speak, and when and where the service will be held. And at some point in all this planning, the funeral director will ask “Have you thought about music?”
By Lisa Thomas February 13, 2025
It was the spring of 1991 when I was first required to walk through the doors of Henderson Office Supply on Main Street in Henderson, Tennessee. The business was owned by the Casey family—the same Casey family who owned Casey Funeral Home—the same Casey family from whom we had just purchased both.
By Lisa Thomas February 6, 2025
It was December 14, 1799, and George Washington, first president of the United States, lay on his deathbed, the result of male obstinance, a sudden change in the weather, a desire to be prompt which led to dinner in soggy clothes, and medical practices of the day that were useless in the face of whatever illness was attacking his body. Actually, just useless in general.
By Lisa Thomas January 30, 2025
Pia Farrenkopf was a loner, a smart, driven woman of German descent who would be gone for weeks at a time, if not for work, then for the sheer pleasure of exploring the world. Her family grew to expect unanswered phone calls and random postcards from faraway places.
By Lisa Thomas January 15, 2025
I find myself sitting in Panera, eating an Apple Chicken Salad and reading “The 7 ½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle”, a Christmas present from my daughter and her family. Only this Panera is located in Vanderbilt Medical Center. Soon I will return to the darkness of Room 7 in the ICU and wait.
By Lisa Thomas January 9, 2025
We were just wrapping up a celebratory family meal (please don’t ask which one; I haven’t the foggiest notion, given the time of year and the prevalence of celebratory meals), when my 15-year-old grandson Wilson stretched his lanky frame in the manner that indicates a satisfaction with the food and a fullness from overindulging, and asked “Mona, (that’s what all the grandchildren call me . . . because my first name is Lisa . . . so, Mona Lisa . . .) “when do I get a copy of the Thomas Cookbook?”
By Lisa Thomas December 27, 2024
As I sit writing this, it is Christmas night—that time when the world grows still and quiet as the celebrations of the day fade into memories.
More Posts
Share by: