This morning while I was eating cherries and drinking coffee I skimmed through blogs for a half hour before my lovely children attacked me with their ridiculous demands of attention and nutritional benefits.
Everything I read today was funny, or at least lighthearted...so I really hate to dim the lights and get serious. But alas, this was what was on my mind.
My grandmother has been sick, and is now recovering, but during the beginning days of her illness I was afraid I was going to lose her and started to write down memories of my life with her so I could share them with my children later in our lives.
I spent countless weekends in her care, being spoiled out of my mind, getting the 'peace and quiet' my parents wanted me to have away from my younger siblings.
The 'quiet' part must have been some kind of joke on their parts because anyone that knows my grandma also knows that it is impossible for her to stay quiet for very long. She'd talk during movies, t.v. shows and even the news. She'd yell up the stairs, down the stairs, from outside on the porch, into the next room,
"Erin! Honey! Love of My Life! Do you need a drink? Ready for a snack? What can grandma get you???"
"Erin! Ask your Pappy what he wants in his salad!"
"Erin Marie! My Dear Child! Bring me the nail polish from my dresser. The peach that's sitting in front of the others..."
What could have been silence was instead filled with opinionated (and often one-sided) conversations, information about her past or her family, stories about people I didn't know, or talk about what she was going to make for dinner or what Pappy needed to pick up at the store.
Night would fall and you could tell she was getting tired from a long day of having a quick step, of cooking, cleaning and caring. She would bathe me, powder me and more often than not put rag 'curlers' in my hair. Silence would finally fall in her house, winning the battle by default at the end of a ceaseless day as my grandma would prepare for bed. She'd set out my our church clothes, then go into Pappy's room and set out his. She'd put lotion on her hands and go into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She'd tuck me in so snug and tight no one was ever able to replicate her technique fully, smoothing the satin comforter down over my body, making a purple cocoon.
Then she would take my face in her hands and tears would well up in her eyes. No matter how many times she tucked me in over so many years, she would nearly cry every single time, as if she was saying, " I have to make this time count...".
She'd smooth my hair away from my face and tell me,
" I love you Erin Marie." Then she would close her eyes and continue, "Thank You God for giving me her mother and Thank You God for giving her mother her father and Thank You God for giving her to me..."