“Was that your grandma on the phone?”
There’s a coworker at my desk. Lord knows for how long.
“Yeah. Sorry, did you need something? All yours–”
She claps her hands like a little girl. “Can I just say that I love the relationship you have with her? It’s so sweet. So, so cute.”
Her hands are still clasped under her chin. And her eyes are bright. And I’m instantly brought back to summer after summer at The River, and Chris’ Pool, and Crabbing and cupcakes and ridiculous songs made up on the spot.
In that moment, we’re both little girls again. And I smile back with a million memories, and a million more reasons to be thankful.
“It is pretty cute, huh. Kinda weird, but–”
She shakes her head a little, interrupting. Still grinning. And I’m suddenly aware of the little souls in the big girls that still long for the same.
“. . . we are.”
“I love that.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty lucky.”
—–And so I’m blogging. Always wondered what it would take to get me to do it. Until that one phone call that you happen to pick up in the middle of Albertson’s in the middle of a Colorado snowstorm in the middle of a perfectly normal day that tells you that memories are precious, and that you’re loved, and that Gammy’s in the hospital. Right there, between half-off Progressive soup and the full-on silence on the other end of the phone. Smack dab in the middle of dodged-call regret and the urge to jump on the next plane to Philadelphia. Because when it all comes down, as she always said, “Family is the most important thing you’ll ever have.” And you finally believe her.