Grammy

I only have one grandmother now. I lost my other grandmother (Nana) when I was still in High School. God, I still miss Nana constantly, especially around Christmas, when I still attempt, in vain, to re-create her cut out cookies. She took that recipe with her when she left this world . . . We will have a talk about that eventually.

Anyway, I still have Grams, who gives me some of the best material for thinking. Grams is . . . well, one never reveals a woman's age . . . We'll just say that she is well down the road of the Presidential letter recognition path. Of course, for a woman who spent the majority of her life supporting the Republican party, I think she is just going to keep living until "her" President can sign that famous milestone letter.

Anyway, I digress. . . Grams used to scare the heck out of me. Ok yes, she is all of 4 feet 10 inches tall and she used to ask Mike and I to sit down before she launched a lecture at us. . . She was freaking scary!

Now, well, Grams can still scare me with just a look. But the light in her eyes is different, and the memories in her head, well, they are fading. The fear I have is different. . .I fear I am going to lose her before I am ready to. So any more, I try to memorize every thing she does and says. It is not hard because there is a lot of repeating now. . .the same stories, the same memories. I don't think I will ever get enough.

Best of all, she still remembers how to make my Mom speechless.

Recently, Mom and Grams were going another round on faith and the afterlife. Mom was trying to tell Grams that she needed to watch her P's and Q's if she wanted to see all her family and friends in the hereafter.

Grams, without missing a beat, looked at Mom and said "How do you know I am going up there? I want to go below. . .I'll know more people down there."

I don't know what made me laugh more. . .the look on my Mom's face, or the purity and blessed simplicity of my Grams reasoning.

Either way, that is a memory that can be repeated, for all I care, until the end of time.

Older or Younger?

I have one brother, Michael. He is one of the most special people in the world, and not just because he is my brother. He is a special kind of guy, and he is all mine. Michael is my older brother, and he is autistic.

Growing up with Michael in my life, well, lets just say it was interesting. I can remember being in restaurants with him and having him take food from other tables. He went through this phase where all he wanted was greeting cards. . . everything was about how many greeting cards he could amass. And it did not matter the occasion . . .wedding, birthday, funeral, anniversary. Mike had to have them all. It was interesting to be a kid and try to explain why your brother had a fist full of greeting cards.

Mike also had some interesting tendencies. . .he loves to flap his hands when he is excited or nervous. Picture a bird flapping its wings to try and fly, and that is Happy Full Of Nerves Mike. Mike also talks to himself, and half the time, no one really knew what he was saying. Take Happy Full Of Nerves Mike, throw in a little Chatterbox Mike, and then combine those with some greeting cards . . .well, sufficed to say, my brother used to attract a lot of attention, a lot of stares, and a lot of people who thought they could show their superiority by making fun of Mike.

I think I was probably under 10 the first time I actively wanted to fight someone for making fun of Mike. As I got older, my protective instincts only got stronger. I can remember being left in charge of Mike when I was around 11 or 12, and I was so nervous that I was going to do something to either hurt him or burn the house down.

Time passed, and somwhere along the way I went from the younger sister, to the one in charge. Now, I think of myself, more often than not, as the older "Sissy." Mike is as much my brother as he is my charge.

Either way, he's mine, and I give thanks to God everyday for the gift he is.