Yesterday I took the boys to see my Grandma Anderson. It’s funny, we all call her that: Grandma Anderson. Except Trent, who calls her Gwumma Annison. I haven’t been to see her as often lately I would like. That is going to change immediately, and I’m also going to start more frequently visiting my other grandma, Grandma Abbott.
I needed to get a dress hemmed and had been meaning to visit, so… Two birds, one stone. You know.
I tend to get obsessed with mortality from time to time, and I have been thinking about it a lit since I turned 30 in October. Seeing Grandma have trouble getting up and down sucks. I remember her lifting my sister and I into the guest bed for sleepovers, holding our hands and helping us. Now I find myself lifting a hand to brace her when she stands up and watching for obstacles to make sure she doesn’t stumble. I don’t like it.
Next on my list is to go see my Grandma Abbott. She’s right in town so I have no excuse not to. That sounds like a good possibility for this week.
Last night I picked Trent up and told him, “You’re growing so much! That makes me happy and sad.” He looked at me and said “It makes me happy.” I told him “I’m happy because you’re growing and happy and healthy. I’m sad because you’re not my baby anymore.” He hugged me and said, “Yes I am. I always will be.”