meet Grandma

Her father was a florist. She has no middle name. She's lost a child. She's lost a breast to cancer. Her laughter is infectious. She sewed her children's clothes. She knows soap opera plots and characters like nobody's business. She doesn't judge, she loves unconditionally. Her garden is beautiful. She could care less about material things. No one, and I mean NO ONE, can make blackberry jelly like her. We share deep and devoted love of ice cream.

And I am more myself with her than I am with anyone else.

I love her.



She took a nasty spill the other morning. Now she's in the hospital being poked and prodded. Tomorrow the tests will come in to see if she needs some rehab or if she's good enough to go home Friday.

I hope she gets to go home. You see, my grandma has this incredible attitude. Chin up. Always. And I feel as though being stuck in the hospital much longer might dampen that spirit. Because at eighty nine creeping in at ninety, when your days tend to be the same, day after day, there's probably not much motivation. Plus she's ready.

You see, we believe in heaven and in God, my grandma and I. And we believe that grandpa is there in heaven, waiting for her. So I can understand being ready to move on.

A few years ago I told her that for her ninetieth I was throwing her an ice cream party. Her reply? "Oh good. A reason to live!"

That woman. What a firecracker.