(Cont) Even though my family had moved three states away when I was young, Grandma Louise had remained a steady presence in my life. Faithfully her boxes would arrive at birthdays and Christmas. Each box would be filled to the brim with her gatherings and thoughts of her family who were obviously a huge priority in her life. There would be new items and old items. Letters or calendars. Newspaper articles that were snipped from past issues when her thoughts were triggered that this might be something one of us might be interested in. A newly sewn housecoat, a bright yarn afghan, crocheted in the evening after a long days work on the ranch her parents had homesteaded. A quilt, a book, a doll that she had meticulously sewn an outfit for. Like clockwork her boxes would come on special occasions. My heart knew she thought of me, of us, always. Her presence spoke into my life and helped to form the person I would become, even though we lived thousands of miles away. She could be counted on. Consistent. She laid a foundation of knowing I mattered in the world because of how I mattered to her. What the contents of her boxes were wrapped in was the deep love of a nurturing heart....in my heart, that summer long ago, I anticipated what had not been mailed in a box, but rather kept in a container in her basement...next to the freezer that contained her homemade fudgie bars that tasted like they were made special for me.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Nov 2014 13:46:25 +0000
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