Packing My Bag

I decided about three minutes after Mea was born that my grandkids would call me "Grammy."

The title honors my great grandmother without replacing her.  I fell in love with Granny as an infant. If she was in the room I cared for no one else.  When I was four, she came to stay with us after we lost my brother.  In one month she moved my mother from non-functioning despair to spunky assertiveness.  

The day Granny went home was such a lovely day what with Mother back from the dead and all.  I did fine until the last minute when Granny started walking up the gangway for her plane.  I jerked my hand out of Daddy's and ran after her.  "I need one for the road," I said.  She gave me one of her patented kisses and I ran back to Mother and Dad.

Granny was always filling my emotional bag with treasure.  Her keen awareness that after her life was done, mine would go on, led her to think about what she could send forward with me.   Sometimes it was physical things like a Children's Bible with a lovely note inside the cover or a gold watch for graduation.  She finished my wedding quilt before I finished high school.  Sometimes it was stories of all kinds from family history or experiences like a train ride. Sometimes it was special things to do with chldren, songs, recipes, games, crafting skills.  She said that I should always lose a game or two of checkers to young children so that they won't get discouraged.  I'll never know if she said that because I'd won.

I try to do the same things for my kids, but my success is not as complete.  I don't worry too much about that, after all these guys are only the warm up.