JANUARY 29TH

This day in my life will never make it into the History books but will live only within my heart; memories of days gone by and the making of new ones today.

On this day, 37 years ago, my first son, Rick, was born; he is my artist and a sculptor. It was snowing on that special day long ago, not at all like the day it is today - seventy -three degrees, can you believe?

My heart is filled with thoughts of sadness and of gladness, all mixed within. My friend called this morning with her heart bleeding, for her son who is dying of cancer. This day that is shining cannot light her world in any way.

My mind reaches out in prayer for her and for my grandson Cory whose daddy was so violently taken away. Murdered.

To change these thoughts of gray, I take my little Heather and take her outside to play. First the swings and then a trip down the hill to check out the pond. Yes, it is filled with water and the frogs are going wild. Noise so loud you can hear them for a country mile.

She remembers our favorite spot, the one that runs through the woods. There is a shallow running creek where she remembers her grandpa teaching her how to skip rocks.

“Mommy, let’s go,” she says as she takes hold of my hand and leads me through the black berry bushes that reach to my thigh, but to her eyes. I clear each one safely away from her as we make our way to the water and to the log that stretches across.

Without hesitation, she was soon in the water, pass her ankles, and she laughed with glee as she threw the rocks and watched them skip.

“Come in, mommy, it is fun”. Now for you who don’t know, I am not her mommy, I am her grandma, her mommy left her almost a year ago and I am the only mommy that she knows.

I may be amiss for letting her get wet on a January day, but it isn’t like any winter day that I can recall, it is a God given break from what has been a year already filled with sorrow.

So, we play and then return to walk back up the hill. Her eyes fall upon another log, one cut from a big pine tree, but it isn’t a log that she sees…

“Start your engines,” she calls out as we both take our places on the log and let our imagination travel to distant places.

She disembarks and flees quickly behind a tree. “Don’t look,” she calls out to me. I know what she has gone to do, make a poopy in her diaper. Yes, I know, she’s already three and my own were trained by the age of two, but I see the fleeting of the years and to rush her no longer seems so important to me.

She takes notice of the clouds and suggests we lay down upon the ground, like so often we would do. Today the sun is shining so bright and the clouds scattered, no dogs, bunnies or angels today to see.

Time for a change, her diaper is full, and her clothing wet from the pond. She requests a horsy ride but mean ole grandma doesn’t comply.

No, this day won’t make it as anything special in anyone’s book, but it is in mine, as you can see.