(1977)Dear Grandma,
Sometimes I can't remember things. I can't remember my cell phone number. Or where I put my keys. I can't remember birthdays, even when I write them on the calendar. I can't remember all the names of the people I taught on my mission, and I can't remember how to explain why I like Samuel Beckett's novels. Sometimes I can't remember what I did last weekend or what I'm supposed to do the next. Maybe you understand. Sometimes I wonder about the things I don't know I can't remember--because I have forgotten them.
One thing I hope I can always remember is when I brought my baby girl to meet you. I hope you can remember too. But just in case our memories fail, which they sometimes do, here is the story of Mary's visit. So we don't forget.
We arrived in the middle of the night, and you were sound asleep. I heard you wake up in the morning; the pain was intense, as usual. Mary and I surprised you there in bed. Immediately, it seemed, the pain melted away, or at least eased up a bit. I laid down on the bed with you and sat Mary by your side. I will be honest: She cried a little at first and turned to me for reassurance. I gave her a hug and turned her back to you. You cooed and oohed and awed, and Mary stared back intently with her knowing, wise eyes. And then she remembered you. She didn't see your aging body (the arms you insist on covering with three-quarter length sleeves)--she saw your spirit, who you really are. She recognized you from that earlier time, before you came to earth. You became fast friends, or, better said, renewed your friendship from before. You kissed her hands and made her laugh. She snuggled up close, touched your face, and smothered you with big, slobbery baby kisses.
What a fun day the three of us had! Later that morning, after you were dressed and had made it down the stairs (no small feat), we watched Mary play on the floor with the pink flamingo balloon. We talked, and I was happy to be with my loving, sassy, caring, charming grandmother. In the afternoon you accompanied Mary and me on a drug run (the legal kind). You helped me remember how to get to the hospital, and when we arrived, Mary had fallen asleep. So you kindly stayed in the car with her while I went inside to pick up your prescription and have it filled. Afterwards, you read my mind, and took me out for ice cream. Hooray! We got milk shakes to go from Sonic. At home in the family room we happily slurped our ice cream, and Mary watched us with envy. You informed her she would have to wait and get hers later secondhand. But she didn't want to wait. I got up to make a phone call, and I absentmindedly set my milk shake on the floor. When I returned, there was Mary, as thrilled as could be, chowing down on my milk shake like there'd be no tomorrow. Besides her first bath with David, it was happiest moment of her life! She was mad when I took it away (and luckily she's a second-child so I didn't panic and rush her to the ER for ingesting pineapple milkshake at age 7 months), and we laughed a lot about it. That night, after Janell and I picked up Chinese take-out, Mary got her hands in my noodles, but they didn't make it to her mouth, (unlike the pineapple shake). That was funny too. Mary is persistent, happy, and stubborn--just like her great-grandmother.
Saturday morning you, me, Janell, and Mary all lounged on your big bed. Mary was all smiles, giggles, and laughs as she joyfully rolled around in the blankets. That morning you inaugurated your new fancy shower, and then Janell, Mary, and I picked up a few things at the store for the new bathroom (as well as a new pillow for you--to replace the one you got for your wedding--yikes, Grandma, that's a long time to have a pillow!). We spent a wonderful afternoon with Andy, Charity, and little Caleb, who drove over from Twin Falls. We sat in the living room visiting and watching Mary and Caleb play. Mary, who surely had been missing her brother, was thrilled to see Caleb. Her face lit up as soon as she spotted him. Not surprisingly, whenever he left the room, she would try to follow. After dinner, we went outside to take some pictures. I know it was difficult for you to make it to the front porch, but I am so grateful, Grandma. I will cherish the pictures from that day, so thank you. Janell and I gave Mary a bath in your kitchen sink (she had a blast!), and you stayed outside on the bench with Andy, sharing a plate of strawberries with Caleb. We were all sad to say good-bye and goodnight--it was so nice being together--but we were also all tired and ready to get some sleep. You fell asleep the moment your head touched the pillow (your new pillow--Caleb had helped me dump the old one in the trash).
Sunday morning I brought Mary in to see you. You were tired, so you might not remember the way she looked at you. She studied your face carefully with gentle, patient eyes. And she left you with a slobbery kiss on the face. We weren't able to make it to church that morning, which is okay, because I don't know how I ever would have made my flight if we had. But I dressed up Mary in her Sunday clothes, and Betty and Nadine came over to meet her. You were sleeping when I left for the airport. I gave you a kiss on the cheek.
It was a special weekend, and I'm so glad I went. The best part was seeing you and Mary together, looking into each other's faces. It reminded me of the story you've told me countless times: How you went to the hospital after I was born, and you were able to hold me. But Grandpa wasn't allowed into the nursery. Only grandmas, no grandpas. Grandpa was jealous. You remember the first time you held me. You held me close and rocked me, and you looked into my face. You knew we were going to be good friends. And we are.
Love Always,
Your number-one and only granddaughter
With a daughter of her own now
Who is one more friend, eternally
P.S. Keep up the Spanish swear words! You are brave, and I admire you deeply for working through your pain and finding ways to cope, even if it's a little unorthodox. I love that sassy attitude, Grandma!
