Grandmothers
LeAynne Snell
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
My eyes filled with tears as I held the strand of yellow, clay beads—a present from my dear friend, Sheryl, decades earlier. I pictured her radiant smile and envisioned her crouched in the garden wearing a gauzy white dress, violet larkspur all around. In the year since her death, when passing a place I associated with her, I still cried. Now, more tears came. Stroking each smooth cylindrical bead I wished, like the genie in the bottle, doing so would bring her back.
I lay the jewelry on the counter. It was time to pick up Aley, Sheryl's seven-year-old granddaughter, for our date. As soon as I arrived she ran toward me, yelling my name in glee. After embracing her, I passed a lavender envelope of remembrance to her father and gave him a long, knowing, heartfelt hug.
Over the past sixteen months, Aley and I waded into rivers and played in parks. We went to movies and theater, fabric and pet stores, Mardi Gras parades, and libraries. We talked about school, friends, family, and her grandmother. She told me she liked to go to my house. When I asked why, she said "'Cuz it feels good there." In my home she gathered frog and turtle figurines and brought them to life with her imagination. It was where we played old maid, watched Woody Woodpecker cartoons, crafted Christmas ornaments, and dyed Easter eggs with yellow onion skins.
Today, when I felt her squirm beside me, I knew she was ready to go on our outing.
First, we went to the botanical garden where, with the sweet scent of viburnum wafting around us, she had my fifty-five-year-old body crawl over and under and through the arches and tunnels in the children's area. Next, lunch at Dixie Café, the place we'd eaten several times before and came to see as "our special place." Then the movie Alice in Wonderland —which I wouldn't have seen otherwise, but really enjoyed. After that, back to our café to top off the day with dessert.
Old Beatles music serenaded us from the sound system as we sat across the booth from each other on vinyl-covered seats. We played "Which of these Five Stylized Line Drawings of Fish Looks Exactly Like the Fish on Top?" on her paper place mat, using a waxy red crayon. I always loved that game. Crayons, too.
She wanted strawberry shortcake; I followed suit. When the desserts came, and after asking her, I scooped most of my whipped cream onto hers. She took a bite and made a big "yum." Looking at her dessert, and scooping up her next bite, she asked, "If Mommy and Daddy die, can I live with you?"
My mind raced. I recalled Sheryl during her chemo treatments, her bald head covered with a crocheted cap, asking me if I wanted to spend time with her granddaughter. It came out of the blue, and I spent several weeks thinking about it. But I never thought about Aley living with us. I wanted to check with my husband, but she needed a response now.
Still thinking, I heard the me that adores her say, "Yes."
My breathing returned. Noticing that she was spooning into the same bite, I was thankful only seconds had passed. I took another breath, smiled big, and added, "I don't think that will happen, but of course you can, sweetheart."
Lifting the spoon to her mouth, she continued.
"Or I could live with Grandma. My other grandma."
Dang. I don't want her to live with her grandmother. I want her to live with us! Shouldn't have taken so long to reply.
My mind filled with all the things I love about Aley. She skips in hallways and sings in the car. When the music in a store moves her, she dances. I want her spontaneous and joyful nature to rub off on me. She's inquisitive—often asking a question to further her intellectual curiosity. Answering her is stimulating. I was privy to witnessing her enchantment with homonyms and watched her progress from sounding out words phonetically, to reading every sign on the road, to pulling a Khalil Gibran book from her purse and reading it to me. Also, raising only one son, I never got any glitz. With Aley come cute colorful girly dresses and glittery shoes.
She offered me part of the cake beneath her strawberries and, after finishing it, I took her home. Continuing on to my house I thought about a recent conversation with a friend who also missed Sheryl. She asked if I was enjoying Aley-time. I said yes, adding that I hadn't realized how good it would be for me.
Her reply was, "Sheryl did."
The beads were lying on the kitchen counter when I got home. I held them close to my heart and kissed them.
(850 words)