I used to sit with my Grammy downstairs in the basement of the church. I would bring her tea and two cookies. She would smile so gratefully as I sat with her while the kids ran and played around in the field, surrounded by ponderosa pines. Sometimes we would speak, sometimes we wouldn’t, but there was always this knowing between us, like we would always be pals.
I often go back to that time when times seem dark, when she sat with me. Even just her presence gave me the strength I needed to be strong, no matter what seemed to be happening in my life. I see her hand resting on mine, her cane resting on the table. She always liked chocolate cookies the best and Market Spice tea.
I didn’t agree with everything the church was saying, and I’m sure she didn’t necessarily care for all the decisions I was making, but there was something there anyway. Something deeper between us. I guess for lack of a better term, I would call it unconditional love. When she died, I saw her in the butterflies, in the ponderosa pines, in the wildflowers, in the rivers and in the mountains. Sometimes I swear she comes to me when I am troubled, or when I could use a friend. It’s just a feeling I guess, like she is sitting with me to lend me strength.
I don’t know what it’s all about, why people do what they do, why there is suffering in the world. Sometimes I think the world could be so much easier if we all could just stop being so defensive all the time. But I do know that there are moments in time when I have experienced love, or what love could be, and I know that there is something there holding me up when times get hard.
Sometimes I get mad at myself for being so deep sometimes, for thinking about such heavy things on beautiful sunny days when everyone else seems to be outside throwing frisbees. But then I remember that that’s just who I am. Grammy puts her hand on mine, smiles at me, down in the basement, two chocolate cookies in front of her, one Market Spice tea. “I think you’re wonderful” she says.