On Sunday, I posted a status about a hymn I sag with family members on our trip to Ohio for my Grandma's visitation and funeral. Monday, I received a message from my Aunt that she had found a couple pictures she thought I would like so she had put them in the mail. I received that envelope yesterday. I opened it and read the note first. It said that one of the pictures even had my Grandma's handwriting on the back. I closed the note and sobbed before I looked at the pictures. Nothing could have prepared me for the flood of emotions I would feel. I hadn't seen my Grandma's handwriting in more than two decades. That flowing handwriting that filled my birthday card every year. The flowing handwriting that filled a wedding card. Oh how I'd love to receive just one more birthday card written in the loving hand of my Grandma.
But here it was...not only pictures but her handwriting. I still didn't know what the pictures were. I wiped my eyes and opened the note again. I slipped the three photos out of the folded paper. One was a photo of my kids when they were little. The other two were slightly yellowed with age. They were smaller than more recent pictures. I looked at the first one. It was a picture of my Grandpa holding a three-month-old me! On the back was my Grandma's handwriting saying "Grandpa and Brenda." The next picture was my Grandma holding that same little baby. It was Christmas 1971. I know from the lovely note on the back of the picture that my Grandparents received special gifts that year. My Grandma was given a Grandmother's pin with the birthstone of each of their 7 grandchildren. My Grandpa received a tie clasp with the same. For some reason, Grandpa's tie clasp was not given to him at the same time. Apparently, it had to be ordered. By the time the picture was developed and Grandma wrote the note, they had received it.
The funny thing is, at Christmastime I was lamenting the fact that I didn't have memories of time with my Grandparents like my brothers do. These pictures proved me wrong. I don't have big memories of helping on the farm and things like that. But I have smaller memories - like the fact that my Grandma always stocked the freezer with the Popsicles I liked. She made sure there were plenty cans of Pringles in the cabinet (left side, 4th shelf down just for the record) and there were always bottles of red cream soda on the cellar steps. I remember Grandma letting me play with her hair and pretend to be her beautician. I remember the tray in the lazy Susan that had the peanut butter, jam, butter, and sugar on it in preparation for breakfast. I remember Grandma and Grandpa proudly walking me in to church, holding my hand, and delivering me to Sunday School. I remember hearing Grandma say, "Yoohoo! They're here!" when we pulled in the driveway. I remember her laying a newspaper out on the back of the easy chair before settling down for a cat nap. You see, the newspaper kept her perfectly coiffed hair from getting messed up. I remember her wearing beautiful scarves and brooches. I proudly own one of her scarves and a couple brooches. I even remember her wearing that Grandmother's pin. I remember her taking me on the front porch and making play-dough with me. I remember being allowed to play with the little ceramic mother cat and her kittens that sat on the bookshelf next to the lamp that had the macadamia nut necklace hanging on it.So, my brother's may have memories of helping on the farm and spending time in the barn. But my memories are of a love shared between two Grandparents and their only Granddaughter. Did they love me more than my brothers and cousins? Of course not. Did they show it in different ways? Absolutely! And I'm just fine with that.
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