I once asked if she recalled singing this song to me as a kid during a bad thunderstorm when I was scared; she didn’t, but I never forgot it… Loving remembering all the special moments I’ve shared with my grandmother.
We met my uncle out front, gathered the cardboard boxes, tape, her room key and walked inside. It wasn’t what I had planned to do today, but it was necessary, so I left work early and picked-up my eldest son, while the youngest was still in class.
As we taped the boxes and began gathering her belongings, I remembered all the beautiful clothing, high heeled shoes and fancy jewelry she wore when I was my sons’ age. Now, she had more medically necessary items packed in her closet, along with snacks much like I once kept in my dorm room, than dressy outfits.
My grandmother fell on Friday – a slip in the bathroom that couldn’t be helped and caused her brittle hip to break.
Throughout my boys’ lives, they’ve watched her survive time and again from falls and other health problems literally like the cat with nine lives.
After we finished packing, we went to see her beautiful beaming blue eyes peeking out from under the covers in the hospital. She was resting and gave us a smile.
“We’re going to plan a celebration,” said my aunt. “Yes,” I responded, knowing she could sense my sadness, then had a good laugh together when we recalled how many times we thought the end was near, when it really wasn’t.
My grandfather passed away when I was in the first grade. But, within the past five years, when I visited my grandmother in the late afternoon, I’d often find her calling his name, saying she was ready for him to come home.
“Henry?” she’d call as if he was opening the door.
Now, I have to wonder at almost 101 years old if he is calling her.
Sweet dreams, my dear grandmother.