I’d heard people bragging about their grandchildren, pulling out bulging wallets of photos, sharing every brilliant word or act. I was mildly sceptical and completely unprepared for the emotions when ours arrived. I’d never known my own grandparents so was unaware of the strength and potential power of that bond.
We lived in the same city as our first grandaughter until she was two – and then they moved. Ouch. I prefer not to mope so I decided to make the best of the situation and volunteered to enjoy a young friend’s children once a week so she and her hubby could have some downtime. But people are not interchangeable and I missed her terribly (and of course her parents).
I wrote this sonnet the following summer at a writing course.
Sun Dried Memories (for Magdalena) When you are gone and I can’t touch your face or watch with joy your mind grasp some new thought so quick I almost see synapses race, I need not grieve the joys that I have not. You did not see me pluck the shining days and spread them on crisp sheets beneath the sun, where they lay drying under its bright blaze till they were soft and supple every one. You did not see me scoop the leathered hours and thread them till they formed a glowing wreath of the glad, vivacious moments that were ours. (The few dark days are folded underneath.) When days are lean and I am hungry through, I slip one in my mouth and savor you.
I currently live in the same house as four of my grandchildren and I consider myself highly blessed among women. When you love people you hardly notice them rollerskating upstairs!