When I think about my grandma, I think about being a little girl, tucked between her and my grandfather as we drive from California to Arizona. I think about my first ride on an airplane. I think of laying on the floor reading, while she and my Papa worked in their office and watching the fan whir around above me. I think about her taking me swimming for hours because it was hot, but also because she liked it as much as I did. I think of her and my grandpa coming to endless band concerts, to sitting next to her on the piano bench as she taught me chords and sang along to “Unchained Melody” as I slowly learned to play. I think of conversations on her porch, and her pride in me as I graduated from college and got my teaching credential. I think of nonfat, Black Cherry vanilla yogurt for dessert, of a week spent in Washington, D.C. with just her and my grandpa. I think of her emails and calls and cards. I think of her meeting me for breakfast when I first decided to get divorced, and her being one of few people who actually understood it, because she’d been there. I think of the way her house smells, and all of the things she’s taught me. I think of how lucky I am to have a grandma who understands me, who is my friend.
Grandma Carol was doing better…but as I sit here, I have tears streaming down my cheeks because she took a turn for the worse this afternoon, completely out of the blue. We need her, and we love her. Please, please, please continue to pray for her. My family loves and cares for her so much—and basically, we would need a miracle at this point.