Today, May 16th, 2013 would have been my grandma's 92nd birthday. I miss her. We met the day I was born, and we become fast friends. I don't remember everything we used to do, but remember a lot. I remember jokes, she always had a new joke. My friends never believed my grandma would tell such jokes, but she did. I can't tell them today since I'm a pastor and some of the ones I remember would make a trucker blush.
I remember the sacrifices she made. The letters she sent me. I remember that she used to drive 5 hours, often alone, to see me and my family. I remember delicious food, and Kentucky Fried Chicken.
I remember long family vacations crammed in the car with grandma. I don't (usually) remember them fondly. Although now, I wouldn't give those memories up.
I remember the never ending smoke from her cigarettes--often lit one from the other. I remember smell of her perfume.
I remember the painful goodbyes that left a small boy angry and hurt. That anger turned to resentment which eventually became bitterness. That bitterness robbed me of opportunities to spend more time with my grandma.
I realize now that she probably cried just as hard as I did every time we said goodbye. But I was blind to that in childhood. It never crossed my mind that she hurt, too. It's embarrassing to admit, but it has only recently dawned on me.
My grandma was a beautiful woman. She was strong and frightening. She was wild and gentle. She was a giving, loving person. She was haunted by a hard life, but she tried to make the most of it. I hope she knew how deeply I loved her, even though it took me awhile to remember it myself.
