Sometimes I don’t realize how much a person has touched my life until what they have ingrained in me becomes a part of what I give to others. My mother’s mom—or “Granny,” as her grandkids affectionately call her—has been an integral part of my whole me for nearly 39 years. Her life lessons are interwoven into my very fibers now. She scrubbed my face when she thought it needed it, gave amazing Granny hugs, and made ever-lasting hiccups seem OK because they meant that I was growing (there may be no medical proof to support that, but I sure believed it because Granny said it).
Although she never lived very close to us, my sister and I enjoyed a unique relationship with her. Granny had six kids, our mother being the only daughter. When my sister and I came along, we were the first granddaughters. Once in a while, in the summer, my parents would drive south towards Arkansas and my grandparents would drive north towards Michigan. They’d meet in the middle … a town called Effingham (the name of which brings my sister and I to hysterical laughter, and we wondered why we never found it funny as kids). It was in Effingham that my sister and I would transfer our traveling pillows, Walkmans and bags to Grandpa’s car and we would begin the transformation from Midwesterner to Southerner for a couple of weeks. My friends said it would take another two weeks for me to weed the twang out of my voice after we returned.
Those summer vacations were a highlight for us. Granny gave us the run of the house. We got to spend quality time with our uncles, enjoying a Jonesboro summer. Grandpa spent a good deal of time covering for my troublemaking with Granny, and Granny spent a good deal of time pretending she didn’t know what I had gotten into.
As we grew older, our stays in Arkansas became shorter. But we still looked forward to holiday visits and road trips to the south. After Grandpa passed away, and Granny moved north to stay with us for a time, our relationship changed. How could it not? But it only changed for the better. Granny couldn’t ignore my troublemaking as much as before—since she had the opportunity to spend way more than two weeks at a stretch with me—but I also enjoyed spending time with her day to day. She became a confidant, an advisor, a referee … all the while still being Granny.
The other night, my son called to me from his room, long after he should have been asleep. “Mom,” he said, “I just can’t fall asleep. These hiccups are driving me crazy!”
“That’s good news, Jake,” I replied. “The hiccups just mean you’re growing.”
I love you, Granny.
Although she never lived very close to us, my sister and I enjoyed a unique relationship with her. Granny had six kids, our mother being the only daughter. When my sister and I came along, we were the first granddaughters. Once in a while, in the summer, my parents would drive south towards Arkansas and my grandparents would drive north towards Michigan. They’d meet in the middle … a town called Effingham (the name of which brings my sister and I to hysterical laughter, and we wondered why we never found it funny as kids). It was in Effingham that my sister and I would transfer our traveling pillows, Walkmans and bags to Grandpa’s car and we would begin the transformation from Midwesterner to Southerner for a couple of weeks. My friends said it would take another two weeks for me to weed the twang out of my voice after we returned.
Those summer vacations were a highlight for us. Granny gave us the run of the house. We got to spend quality time with our uncles, enjoying a Jonesboro summer. Grandpa spent a good deal of time covering for my troublemaking with Granny, and Granny spent a good deal of time pretending she didn’t know what I had gotten into.
As we grew older, our stays in Arkansas became shorter. But we still looked forward to holiday visits and road trips to the south. After Grandpa passed away, and Granny moved north to stay with us for a time, our relationship changed. How could it not? But it only changed for the better. Granny couldn’t ignore my troublemaking as much as before—since she had the opportunity to spend way more than two weeks at a stretch with me—but I also enjoyed spending time with her day to day. She became a confidant, an advisor, a referee … all the while still being Granny.
The other night, my son called to me from his room, long after he should have been asleep. “Mom,” he said, “I just can’t fall asleep. These hiccups are driving me crazy!”
“That’s good news, Jake,” I replied. “The hiccups just mean you’re growing.”
I love you, Granny.
Beautiful, Falula! Just beautiful! I do try to avoid the hiccups now, just in case the theory is true.
ReplyDeleteWhat a blessing, grandmas are often under appreciated! I never really knew mine since she lived in Australia, wish I had spent more time writing her letters when I could. My nieces lost their grandma last night to a short battle with cancer, luckiy they had a close relationship with her and will remember the many lessons she taught them!
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