Grandparents do not always grow on trees. Sometimes, even their lengthiest branches bear no fruit. It appears that the limbs of these family trees end here. Some of us are fortunate to know the parents of our parents. Many people do not have children. Others have children with alternate aspirations. Grandparents do not always grow on trees, but sometimes if you climb high enough you can reach them. Some grandparents are adopted.
Twenty years ago, I volunteered at “Vacation Bible School” with my church. I was assigned to co-teach the art class with another woman. Her name is Sandy. There was a palpable sense of camaraderie. We conversed easily and became fast friends. I mentioned that none of my grandparents were local. She told me she had no grandchildren and likely never would. Tears filled her eyes when I asked Sandy to be my “Grandma.” We planted our own family tree.
Sandy and I built a strong friendship and grew closer over the years. We were neighbors. Often, I ran a loop from my house, passing hers on the right. Countless times, I stopped for a “water break,” which became a visit, a Diet Coke, and a ride home after dark. I always felt safe in her home, and it was a place of great comfort. I grew up knowing her, loving her, and skipping school to visit her. Sometimes, when the burden of anxiety was too heavy to attend a drawing class, I knew without a doubt where I needed to be. The television played in the background as Sandy and I talked; I ate my favorite ice cream (which was always on hand), the anxiety melting.
Years passed. Decades faded away. We moved to separate locations, but we were always together. When I ask Sandy how she is doing, her most often reply is:
“Gouda, gouda, gouda.”
Grandma’s tree blossoms in my heart all year long.
–SJB