Slowing Down

Summertime. . . I'm going to slow down for a couple months, writing more sporadically, regaining a bit of equilibrium. Grandson's visiting, so when there's something striking, I'll be around. . . and when I'm not, I'm out having fun in the sun. . . making cookies. . . stroking the light brown hair, playing ball with Ethan and the dogs. . . settling back for a movie.

Being Grandmother--to someone who needs a grandmother--it's like nothing else, yet it's indescribable. When my grandmother, Mamaw died, she was eighty-eight and I was forty-four. . . and when I was born in 1946, she had been forty-four. It was hard to believe that for all of my life, it had only been forty-four years we had been together. . . she was my best friend. That day, the day I'd dreaded all my life, when she died, I promised myself I would be all that she was to me, to any grandchildren we might be blessed with.

It would be ten years thence, when Ethan was born. It was love at first sight. I fell into the grandmother role with great vigor and awe. . . the power and simplicity of the relationship surprised me--it moves me still. I was lucky the first five years of his life--he lived nearby. Now we count the weeks and the days until we see one another, but we're still close. . . the Vonage phone helps so much.

When we have time together, time stands still and becomes of less importance--accomplishing every day things takes on a different agenda. The world slows down for us, gives us a little break, and when we can do something with just Michael, Ethan and me. . . that is the best thing since the invention of good stuff. Seeing the look of simple enjoyment in his eyes, knowing the complete security he feels in the company of "Gran" and "Da," being part of that equation--I think sometimes my grandmother is with us. For nothing else can compare to the feeling of having a close grandparent, than being one.