When Love Visited


During my childhood, my father traveled a week at a time for business. Grandma would frequently come help my mom—who was in college at the time.

Grandma brought two large bags on the Greyhound bus—her knitting was always in the large one.


She slept on the living room sofa and made herself a workstation in my dad’s big chair.


Mom had a pile of clothes stacked by Grandma. She would carefully repair holes in my pant legs and hem dresses so I could wear my sister’s hand-me-downs. When she wasn’t sewing, she was knitting, or busy in the kitchen canning gallons of homemade applesauce.


Each morning she’d have breakfast ready and send me out the door in time to walk the short distance up the street to my school.


She wasn’t afraid of driving our car, but seldom did. If we needed something for dinner, she had me walk alongside her the few miles to the store. I remember being bundled up, and Grandma telling me, “Cold air and a brisk walk will put beautiful roses on your cheeks.”  I looked up to see if she had roses on her cheeks.


It’s amazing that sixty years later I can remember those childhood scenes. I’m now creating new scenes at my granddaughter’s home while her father is away. I may not have a pile of clothes to mend, but I have time to play.


Knowing how long memories can last, I’m thinking about what I say and do. I want my love to be something that she’ll always treasure. And I hope in sixty years the scenes she recalls will bring her a smile and a heavenly hug from me.




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