a story of memories…….
A Gift for Grandma
The wrapping paper and bows ankle deep across the floor.
The “Happy Birthday” banner covers the front door.
The cake and ice cream remnants fill the countertop,
Along with empty coffee cups and cans of soda pop.
Today’s celebration for Grandma, mirrored many in the past.
And though the day was merry, my heart was heavy and downcast.
I relived the dull frustration as I moved from store to store,
Arms empty of a heartfelt gift for this woman I adored.
No woolen sweaters, fancy candies or scent of any kind,
Could reflect the world of love in this grandchild’s heart and mind.
I vowed to use the next year to find a gift unlike the rest,
Worthy of an honored place in Grandma’s treasure chest.
So weeks go by, and life moves on. It’s January now and snow blankets the lawn.
I stand at my front window gazing through the glass.
Staring back at me is a memory from the past.
I hear a bitter winter wind howling as in pain,
The snow drifts hug the old brick house, the storm angry and insane.
Despite the world’s cold shoulder, Gran’s house was warm and snug.
The scent of fresh bread baking, hot cocoa poured in mugs.
Gran was master of that day, making short work of our unease.
She coaxed us into playing games, light-hearted as a breeze.
We dressed in homemade costumes and invented silly songs.
We traded jokes and riddles. we giggled all day long.
My memory of that stormy day is sharp and crystal clear.
The love and care Gran felt for us, intact through all the years.
The steady calm assurance and trust she could bestow.
Still warms this grandchild’s heart from the wind and ice cold snow.
Savoring my warmth inside, I find the long-lost key.
It unlocks the secret door that solves my mystery.
It occurs to me that memories give, what trinkets surely can’t.
A voice to how Gran touched our lives, her wisdom’s true impact.
I exchange excited words with my siblings on the phone.
This gift would be too special for me to give alone.
We decide to write the stories, held deep within our hearts.
The stories of our childhood that Grandma played a part.
We’ll put down on paper throughout the coming year.
Breathing life into the past, for the woman loved so dear.
So time goes by and life moves on. It’s April now and flowers grace the lawn.
I hurry to the mailbox, dodging the spring rain.
A letter from my brother, he’d postmarked it “Memory Lane”.
He writes, I was barely six years old, a gorgeous day that spring.
Grandma unpacked her garden tools as I sat upon the swing.
That morning I helped plant seedlings in a garden row.
By noon my patience wearing thin, I wanted them to grow!
I can still hear Grandma’s voice “In time the seeds will sprout,
But for a flower to blossom one must forgo all haste and doubt,”
“It takes care and patience to make a flower grow.
Somewhat like a grandchild, I’ve come to love and know.”
She wrapped me in a gentle hug and flashed her loving grin.
“A patient heart, grandchild, is a virtue from within.”
So time goes by and life moves on.It’s July now and butterflies flutter across the lawn.
The noontime sun is fierce and red, far too hot for me.
I seek out the refuge of a friend, a shady old oak tree.
As I flirt with lazy sleep, I resurrect a holiday.
I can feel the white sand beach and taste the salty ocean spray.
That summer I was awed by the treasures of the sea.
But could not find a soul who loved them just like me.
Mom and Dad too busy, other things on their minds,
To admire every rock and seashell and relish every find.
But Grandma slowed to listen to all I had to say.
We strolled hand in hand along the beach that entire day.
Grandma never hurried me, but walked at a child’s pace.
Her endless interest and companionship could never be replaced.
She wrapped me in a gentle hug and flashed her loving grin.
“A tender heart, grandchild Is a virtue from within.”
So time goes by and life moves on. It’s September now and leaves dance across the lawn.
My younger sister stops to bid a quick hello.
And add another story to our growing folio.
She recalls a certain day in the second grade.
Eager to sport the gingham dress our Mother had handmade.
But the boys had teased and taunted, poked fun at the checked dress.
My sister hurt and broken, her face a tear-stained mess.
She ran all the way to Grandma’s with battered heart and injured pride.
Confident Gran’s words could heal the hurt inside.
As Grandma heard my sister’s tale of the frightful day at school.
She lovingly relayed to her advice on ridicule.
“Never let a person make you feel like less,
Because they may not like the way you look or dress.”
“You are a special lady, no matter what you wear.
What’s on the inside should be your only care.”
She wrapped her in a gentle hug, and flashed her loving grin,
“A beautiful heart, grandchild is a virtue from within.”
So time goes by and life moves on.It’s November now and frost ices the lawn.
My siblings and I gather to remember holidays with Gran.
The unforgettable glass ornaments and stocking stitched by hand.
We recite the family folklore Grandma shared each Christmas Day.
Our family huddled near the tree to savor pine bouquet.
Her indelible traditions like holding hands at grace.
And Christmas Eve carols around the crackling fireplace.
We echo Grandma’s words each year the church bells chimed.
It was what she had said, said a hundred times.
She’d wrap us in a gentle hug and flash her loving grin.
“A giving heart, grandchildren is a virtue from within.”
So time goes by and life moves on.
It’s Grandma’s day again, and we start out across the lawn.
Our sweet book of recollections, rich in treasures past,
Was each grandchild’s gift of love meant to always last.
We present the box to Grandma, I swallow hard, breathe long and deep.
Mixed with angst and eagerness. Will our gift be one to keep?
I study Grandma’s face for clues, Recognition? Joy? Delight?
The first sign I see is a tear and smile as wide as bright.
She told us many of our tales she had long ago forgot.
But to her complete surprise, the three of us had not.
She wrapped us in a gentle hug and flashed her loving grin.
“Thoughtful hearts, grandchildren are a virtue from within.”
Her voice choking with emotion, her eyes wet with misty tears.
She said it was the most thoughtful gift she’d received throughout her years.
She loved her role as Grandma and she counted herself blessed.
Her grandchildren had graced her life and her treasure chest.
Written by Teri Harrison- copyrighted. Not for personal use.