Love’s Labor is Not Lost

It’s been two years since my granny passed away. It’s funny how time moves so fast while we seem to trudge through it. Two years gone. How many years before that lost to Alzheimers? Too many.

I had a particularly close relationship with my grandparents. I practically lived with them as a child, then I did live with them my first year in college. After my granddad passed away, I again lived with granny until I was married.

After she was gone, I started thinking about the things I wish I had of hers. When she was alive, I felt it was grotesque to take her things. Like she would somehow snap out of dementia and need them all again. Now I wish I had just a few.

 

One in particular was an old metal glider that sat on the back patio. She and grandpa would drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and glide every morning. After he passed away, she could be found there often – sitting on his side – smoking, drinking coffee and gliding.

She sat there while grandbabies played in the small pool at her feet. She sat there in the evenings a few times when she had wine. I joined her there for her afternoon smoke in the summer when I came home from class before I zipped off to work.

 

And always, we would glide.

For my 40^th birthday, I asked my mom for one present, this rusty old glider. It was not granny’s, but it is reminiscent enough to fill my needs.

It was a weekend’s labor to sand, strip, paint and finish it. (That whole "lead-based paint thing".. yeah.)

My goal was not only to have a reminder, but a place holder for the next generation. I want my family to sit next to me and glide while I drink my coffee every morning, talk about my tomatoes or read my book in the sunshine.

I need my son to find his spot on the glider. And maybe when I'm gone, he will take this piece of me to his house for his children and grandchildren to remember. 

It was a labor of love, but it was worth it to replace a small piece of her that was lost.