I wondered as I sat there rocking her, singing to her, reading her little stories from her tiny little books--will she remember any of this? Will she remember going to lunch with my friends, shopping at the mall, and riding in Grandma's car? Will she remember the songs I sang, our fun little dance, my patting her back as she fell asleep for her afternoon naps? Will she remember my smell or my voice? And if there are any memories at all, what will they be? These are the things I wondered about, as our car rolled out of our driveway for the very last time.
During the first year of my youngest granddaughter's life, I had the privilege of babysitting her. Her mother went back to work part-time, and I readily volunteered to watch her. At 8:30 in the morning, 3 days a week, my doorbell would ring, and there she'd be. All snuggled in her little infant carrier, dressed so cute. I'd have her all day until 4:30. And boy, did we have fun. I took her everywhere. Target, the mall, my friend's homes, grocery shopping, restaurants, you name it, we went there together. The big joke was that she'd gone to more fancy restaurants than her parents.
There were also many days that we'd just stay home. After all, grandma did have a house to clean and laundry to do. She would sit there in her little chair, eyes following my every move. We'd sing songs, do puzzles, and play peek-a-boo. I tried to make our boring household chores as much fun as possible. Although I always figured I could get a lot done during her nap time, most of the time we just plain had fun.
At the end of that first year, two things coincided — my husband was offered a job in another state, and my daughter-in-law became pregnant with her second child. That was a dark day for me. Wait, let me explain. I knew that within just a few short months, my world was going to change. We were going to move away, and my daughter-in-law was going to quit her job, which meant I would be separated from my little granddaughter. Now, I've done this before. I hated it then, and I knew that I was going to hate it this time, too. I was going to experience pain, heartache, great sadness, and depression. They would be the same emotions I felt when my daughter moved overseas and then again to California, taking my grandson with her. Sometimes I wonder (only to myself, of course) if these children of mine know how incredibly hard that is for a grandmother to endure. We (the grandmas) experience separation anxiety from being torn away from our grandchildren. And they (the children) seem to do this at will. But, I digress.
This story really is about something wonderful that happened the other day. It's a true story. However, let me preface this with this — I'm not so sure I really believe it. So, you be the judge, I'm just telling you what happened. And know this, I will cherish what happened all my days.
This last weekend was my youngest grandson's first birthday. It was outside at a park with lots of friends, family, and food. My daughter-in-law did a great job — there were balloons, a cute cake, decorations, the whole thing. So, a couple of hours into the party, after the food, cake, and gifts, my little granddaughter and I were walking around talking to people when we came upon one of my kids' friends who'd recently had a baby of her own. He was just a tiny little thing, 2 months old. He was sleeping peacefully in his little carrier. My granddaughter (who is now 3 years old) looked at him, then up at me, and said, "Grandma, remember when you used to carry me around in one of those fangs?" I need to spell her words just the way she said them--she's so cute. Anyway, I looked down at her, smiled, and said, "Yes, I do, but how do you remember?" You were very little back then? However, she assured me that she did indeed remember. So, I said OK.
And then, just about an hour later, as the party was winding down, I was sitting on a picnic bench in the shade. She spotted me and came running over. She crawled up on my lap, all hot, sweating, and tired, and asked me to sing to her, just like I used to. I asked her, " What did I use to sing? And she said, " Remember, you would rock me in the chair and sing me songs, all the time. My eyes began to fill up a bit with grandma tears, and I said, " You mean like Jesus loves me, and This little light of mine? And she said, "Yes," and the other one too. Yes, I remembered the other one. I will never forget it. You see, after I found out that I'd be moving away, I'd sing to her, "You are my sunshine," while fighting back tears. Yes, I remember, and I'll never forget. Not ever. So there we sat, rocking slowly back and forth in the warm summer shade on a picnic bench, while I hummed "You are my sunshine." No, I'll never forget, not ever.
For the rest of my life, I'll remember that day in the park. The day my youngest grandson turned 1, and the day my little 3-year-old granddaughter said that she remembered — that a long time ago, Grandma used to rock her, sing to her, and carry her around in her little infant seat. And whether she really and truly remembers or not, she'll be able to read this little story about a specific time in her life, a time that her grandma remembers well enough for both of them.
Grandmas do count. We really do. We make an impression that lives on in the subconscious hearts and minds of our grandchildren. Those simple little things that we do matter. I have thus far been blessed with 5 grandchildren, and I hope before it's all said and done, maybe, just maybe, I'll be blessed with a few more. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get to sing to them too. Or they really are my sunshine. They really, truly are.
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| My granddaughter and her dog |
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| Let's play chase, Grandma! |
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