But.
The other day I wanted hot chocolate. We didn't have any in the house, but I was telling Mark about how my grandmother would make home-made hot chocolate occasionally, and how I remembered clearly the taste and the FEELING that she did something special, just for me. She would always bring it to me in a plastic Campbells soup mug that she knew I loved. It was cracked and battered, but it had a special place in my heart.
I remember clearly sitting in the early morning sunshine with my grandfather. The air was just a little chilly, enough for me to be in a sweater. We were sitting in their old lawn chairs, just listening to the world wake up. I was content. I was happy. I was always happy when I was with my grandparents. I was safe.
My grandma came out of the kitchen door with two mugs of hot chocolate for my grampa and I. She handed it to me, kissed my forehead, and went back inside. It was a small thing, but I will always remember that moment. Her scent, her love, the way the cocoa warmed me up, the way the cup felt under my fingers.
After Mark and I talked about it, I woke up in the middle of the night. As usual, I said a small prayer, and then laid for a while, thinking about my grandma. I silently told her I loved her, and wished she could see me now. I told her about the new baby, and how if it is a girl, it will carry her name- Rose.
Yesterday, Lily and I were sick. But we ventured out to Old Time Pottery, mainly to let Lily run off some cooped up energy. I walked the whole store, Lily running ahead. I picked up a few things, and by the time I made it nearly all the way back around, I was done for. Tired, achy, sneezing. Then I saw it. An end cap with a display of soup cups, thermos's, etc.
And wouldn't you know what was right smack in the middle?
And last night, Lily and I shared some home-made hot cocoa from this very mug.
Thank you Grandma. I love you.