Friday, February 25, 2011

That Old, Beat Up, Chewed On Cross

Day 13

I've been thinking about you alot lately. I don't know why. Perhaps it is because you would, if memory serves me correctly, would be 100 this year. Perhaps it is because Camille, your namesake, is the same age I was when you died. I don't know why- but I've been thinking about you. Did your nose tickle? Can your nose tickle in heaven?

I miss you. It's stupid, since you died over 25 years ago. I don't remember what your voice sounded like, but I do remember things you sang to me, like "Pop goes the weasel" and the song "Playmate." I have a little music box that plays that song. Camille and Georgie had it on yesterday and were playing with it. Did you put them up to that, to let me know that you think of me too?

(Do people in heaven think of those of us on earth?)

Sometimes I wish you hadn't died, that you had lived but, yet, that everyone would turn out the same. Mom and Dad once said that if you had been alive, we wouldn't have moved to Korea and, well, then I wouldn't have met Adam. I do believe everything happens for a reason . . . but I wish you had been alive AND moved to Korea with us, so we could have had you longer AND I would have still met my husband.

I wonder what you would have thought about my children. Joseph is your first great-grandson. I can almost see it, you holding my tiny baby boy. And Camille. Would you have smiled when I told you her middle name or rolled your eyes? When she grew up, would you have delighted in her antics, or laughed and told me it was PAYBACK? Or both?

Oh, and my babies. I know you were there the moment Georgie was born and I know you watched and waited with him when he was in the hospital. I felt you there, in the corner of his room, watching him and praying for him in the way that only a great-grandmother can. You told him to hang on and be strong, because we love him so much.

I know you like Cole's middle name, because it is the same name you chose for your son. I think you would have held me up during that long, difficult pregnacy and those dark months. Scratch that- I know you did, because you prayed for us, didn't you? You wouldn't let anything happen to my sweet little bear.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes and dream hard enough, I can see how it might have turned out. I can see you at my wedding, watching me wear your wedding dress and telling me how you and your sister went shopping for it. I can see my mother bringing you to visit me after the birth of my children and handing you your new great grandchild. I can see you at my sister's wedding, in a four generation picture with you, your daughters, granddaughters and GREAT granddaughters.

Can I see it because you were there, in spirit, watching us?

When I miss you most- and it seems like that is often these days- I wear your cross that Mom gave me. It is gold and lovely, even with those dents- the teeth marks left by your children. Cole likes to pull on it and put it in his mouth. It makes Adam nervous (what if he chokes?) but I don't mind. I like to picture you cuddling your children as they play with it, finally quiet for a moment. I like to think that Cole is leaving his marks on it for future generations.

(Will a granddaughter of mine wear it one day and remember me?)

It's that old beat up, chewed on cross that connects me to you these days. My memories are fading but the feelings are- unconditional love and security. And it's the security and unconditional love of the Cross that reminds me that you still here, with me, loving my family, praying for my kids.

I miss you, Grandma.

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