But here we go.
Husbands and wives. Bread and butter. Diet coke and crushed ice. Some things just go together.
When I was a teen, my grandparents lived with us. My dad's parents (Granny & Grandpa) were married over 50 years. I'm too tired to do the math. It was a long time. They loved each other. Deeply loved each other. I need to go back and find a better picture, but this one will have to do...
You may not be able to tell it here, but my grandfather was a tall, large man. 6'3"ish with broad shoulders that were not afraid of hard work. My grandmother was 4'11" and she did not have the advantage of the petite section of any store years ago. She made or altered all of her own clothes.
She kept my grandfather's favorite cake on hand at all times. She wore gloves to read
the Sunday paper as to not "muss her hands." She was tiny, but mighty. She chased my brother down the driveway with a hairbrush to spank him. I don't remember what he did, but I am quite sure he deserved it.
I spent many a night at their home. She let me play in her jewelry box and her lingerie drawer. As an adult, I now know that she had some hot little numbers in that drawer - hot pink, with ruffles and very see-through. She taught me to sew and cook. She did exercises every morning before ever leaving her bed. She prayed and read God's Word every night before going to sleep.
As they got older, my Granny's mind failed before her mind did. She had "little strokes" that took her slowly. This dignified southern belle would have died to know that my mom and I cleaned her after here strokes. The day came where she had to have more care than my family could offer her.
My grandpa drove to see her every day. He helped feed her. He sat with her. He did not seem to mind if she remembered him that day or not. The night came when Jesus called her home. The nursing home called that it was time. My Grandpa quickly dressed and we went to be with her.
I will never forget the way he held her hand. The way he kissed her forehead. The way he told her, "It is ok for you to go now." It was the most intensely private moment I have yet to witness. It was more private and intimate than birth of my children. It was decades of love bound together in moments. It was over 17 years ago, yet I could be in that small room right now.
I want to love like that. I want to be a southern belle that feels the need to keep my hands clean of newspaper ink, but that can clean a fish and sit by my man in the hunting camp as a deer is blooded. I want my husband to say that I always had his favorite cake on hand. I want my grandchildren to blush at the lingerie I have in my back dresser drawer. I want my children to remember me exercising my body in the day and my soul at night before I go to bed.
I miss my grandparents. I hope my life, marriage and children honor them.
