I laid in the predawn darkness staring at the silhouettes of the Palm Trees outside of the window. I used to never do this ... just lay there in bed ... thinking ... wondering ... wishing. They are moments of contentment melded with apprehension. "I wonder what this day will bring?"
Forever, I'd wake, jump out of bed and dive into the day. Now I linger. Perhaps because I'm older, or tied, or mellow ... or don't have a clue, I lay there and my Grandmother rises from the dead to visit with me.
She told me once that when she couldn't sleep at night, she'd lay there and pray. She would do it out loud, softly talking to the God she loved so much. She would ask that nine children be alright. She would ask that the dead ones be looked after until she could join them. She'd pray for the 56 grandchildren calling each of us by name. Then she'd start on the great-grand-children. I wonder now if she ever had time to sleep anyway praying for us all like she did.
We were sitting at her kitchen table when she informed me of her nightly ritual. I visited her often. We all did. And we'd all sit there. She would pull out the latest pictures of everyone one to share them with us. Especially the far off ones like Becky and Fred or Curtis and Dee's children who were spread everywhere. After the pictures, we should just talk.
I was the oldest grandchild so I got the first blast of grandmotherly love. I was lucky because my cousins Rick, Ricky and Cindy found to get out of their wombs to be the first to get her love ... but I was the one.
We were close and did a lot together. I stayed with her once in my great-Aunt Bessie's cabin in the north Georgia mountains. She visited me in college and in Seminary. We often took golf cart rides by ourselves or long drives to just talk.
When I first went to college she missed me and decided to write me a letter. I still have it. I remember going to my box in the Landrum Center at Georgia Southern College and pulling it out. Her shaky scrawl writing had Edith Carver on the envelope so I knew it was from her. I opened it up and she had written on a single white piece of paper ... "Dear Mike , I love you" ... and that was it ... she wrote 'I love you' a hundred times ... all over the front and all over the back. Then she signed it ... "Love Grandma."
That's how she was.
Anyway, laying there this morning, with a full weekend agenda in front of me, she decided to visit. These memories rushed into my head all at once and I miss her as much now as I did when she died. She had a funny way of smiling and I could picture it just as clearly as I could feel her sitting on the bed.
She didn't say much. She never did. But I could hear singing old Gospel Hymns. Of course she told me she loved me. I think she got on to me a little for not praying enough but ... she never really got on to me. Even when I was doing outrageous stuff that she often couldn't comprehend she would just assume that I knew what I was doing. Then she would tell me that she believes in me and I could always to her.
Then she went back to heaven. Actually, she probably went to check on everybody else. I don't know. But I am sure happy that she made some time for me.
I sat on the side of the bed for a long time staring at the silhouettes of the Palm Trees ... with my hands folded in prayer.
