The magic of grandmothers

I was so blessed to have two of the most amazing grandmothers. I’ve always known this, but it’s become prevalent in my mind as I witness the relationship between my children and my mother develop. I often wonder what memories are being seared in my kids’ brains as they journey through their childhood and preteen years.

Both of my grandmothers were strong, smart, funny women. Both left this earth too soon and I long for their laughter and hugs regularly. I find myself often wondering, what would she think of me? What would she think of my son and my daughter? Oh, if only I could spend an afternoon across the table from her, just chatting. Hearing her words and ideas at this point in my life would be amazing. My memories of them both are from the point-of-view of a young girl. I long to know them both as a grown woman.

When I think of them, my mind flashes with vision-filled memories. Weekend visits and my Grandma Becky’s house were like second nature. A glorious time that always felt like an escape from our routine. Things like the early morning sound of my grandmother shuffling in her slippers, wearing her modest house dress, as she makes her way down the hallway. I would wait patiently on the couch, anticipating our private snuggle time before everyone else woke up. I wonder if she knew how much I loved that, and her.

Do you ever have memories of scents from your past, especially your youth? A strong memory for me was the smell of my Grandma Gerry’s house, specifically her room. There was a scent of Dove soap that lingered like a cloud of comfort around her. I remember the first time I recognized it as distinctly hers. I was in the grocery store, a Gemco (that will age me), with my mother and I caught a whiff of the scent as we passed through the toiletry aisle. I scoured the shelves to find the source, and there it was – Dove soap, pink Dove soap to be exact. I asked my mother if I could have a bar, and I kept it in my drawer for the longest time, even after she died.

Both of my grandmothers were magical in my eyes. Grandma Becky had the ability to make anything, from clothes to delicious food. I always knew how strong she was too, and I could see the affect she had on others in her community. I felt like there was nothing that shook her. She seemed like a rock of wisdom, filled with depths of knowledge and love. My Grandma Gerry was almost like a mythical elfin queen. She seemed to always have a twinkle in her eye, a giggle in her throat and a cabinet filled with treats. The home she shared with my grandfather was a treasure trove of strange and wonderful things to explore.

I miss them both, everyday.

I am so grateful to know that my children are forming incredible memories with their grandmothers, and in turn my mother and my husband’s mother are each forming their own unique bonds with my kids. I watch the interactions they have, countless magical moments. I realize we are all incredibly lucky, and I am so very thankful to know it.

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