100 years

my parents made sure that each year we had a vacation.  it might be a 3-4 day stay at a motel (complete with a swimming pool) at the lancaster ohio holiday inn.  or it could be a trip across the country to attend our church's general assembly.   i have retained that love of travel and adventure because of their commitment to 'get away'.

and yet, one of my fondest childhood memories was returning home.  we would leap out of the car, not to unload the luggage, but to see grandma hughes.  she always, and i mean always, would say, "it seemed like 100 years!" as we attacked her with hugs.

grandma was not a relative by blood, but a next door neighbor who attended our church.  she and her husband, mun, made their house our second home.  btw, mun was actually named haymond, but we called him mun, because we thought grandma was saying "hey, mun!"  rather than "haymond!" when she wanted his attention. 

grandma was the most loving person i ever knew.  every sunday was spent at her house.  after washing the dishes, we would play games.  animal, rock, or mineral was a good one as was charades.  but the game that stays with me, both literally and figuratively, is chinese checkers.   i still the the very board on which she taught me how to play. 

frequently, we would take a sunday walk, sometimes as far as the st. mary of the springs school (now called ohio dominican).  there were two statues of lions at the entrance, mouths wide open.  grandma suggested putting a gum wrapper in one of the mouths.  on our return, we look to see if the wrapper was still there.  and it was!

grandma was a listening ear, even when i was an adult.  i would confide in her about things that i would dare not tell anyone else.  and she seemed to understand, or want to understand.  bottom line, telling her things was safe and secure.  she could straight-forward, sometimes gruff, and quite opinionated.  yet, i always was sure of her love for me.  always...

what i didn't fully realize until i was older that she was in constant pain.  i really didn't know the extent of it until my mother told me when i was a teenager.  i remember going up to my room, lying on my bed, and crying.  i couldn't stand the thought of her suffering.  it broke my heart.  and from that day on, i feared her eventual death.  and in february of 1985 when i lived in saudi arabia, she died. 

one of the many joys of my relationship with grandma is that she never really left.  i talk to her daily.  i hear her words of wisdom.  i feel her arms around me.  and listen to her admonishments.  i laugh with her.  recalling all the memories of her would be impossible.  but when i need her, she reminds me of something that helps me.

i am the one in constant pain now, whether it is dull, burning, or intense.  in moments of clarity, i am reminded, "if grandma could deal with it, then i can too!".  and i keep on truckin'.

note to self:  chat with grandma this morning.