Granma

     She would have been well over one hundred years now, the lady I called “Granma”. In my childhood she was my favorite person in the whole world. She had a hard life as the stories say but she never showed me anything but love and kindness, hiding the pain and hurt she felt inside. If I close my eyes I can see her in the kitchen baking my favorite cookies or waving goodbye as she walked the couple of miles to work in a local factory. She had a quiet way about her never yelling but getting her point across with spoken words that both soothed and taught. I miss her holding me and telling me stories of her days as a child growing up in the turn of the century. Her time on the farm tending to the chickens and milking cows for the fresh milk she would have for breakfast. She told me of her days traveling with the circus and falling in love with the leader of the band who would become my grandfather. I can still smell the perfume she wore and feel the softness of her dress as I cuddled in her lap to hear her tell the tales of her life. She was a gentle soul full of love to give and I drank in every bit I could. She was one hundred and two when she left this world with a house full of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren by her side. I loved that lady with so much of my heart that I wondered if there would be room enough to love others? I think of her often and see her in my dreams just like she told me she would see me every night she tucked me into bed. Someday we will meet again and walk among the angels, holding hands and telling stories that will never end. Happy birthday Granma

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