This I Believe. . .
. . . that my grandmother is my guardian angel. She is what keeps me going when the going gets tough; she gives me courage when I am scared; and solace when I am homesick. There are moments when I miss her so much it almost takes my breath away. For reasons I will never know, she was way too soon. Maybe it was because my grandfather missed her too much and needed her to be with him, which is understandable. But there are so many things we did not get to do; things we did not get to cross off of our Life Lists. Having dinner in the Eiffel Tower; smashing grapes in Italy like Lucy and Ethel; watching every episode of Alf; skydiving in San Francisco; teaching me how to make her famous potato wedges. She may not be in the pictures I take or the memories I make, but she is there–in my heart–helping me through bad, rough times, laughing with me during the “blonde moments,” and relishing the good times. Sometimes I can feel her presence if I am quiet and very still. It’s during those moments when a girl needs her grandmother–to vent, to cook, to play, to laugh, to remember the good times, like when I was two and I insisted that “needed to drive“ and about how “wild” my mom was as a teenager; to talk about love and the grandfather I barely had a chance to get to know; what it was like to raise seven children; and to just escape from the constraints of everyday life, sit on the porch of her condo in Melbourne, and just be.
And even though she won’t be there when I graduate from college and I can’t call her to tell her all about my day at my first job or my new love interest or when I get engaged; and she won’t be sitting in the front row at my wedding or present for the birth of my children or read my published books, I know she will be there. As my guardian angel. This I believe. And that is enough.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.