By Joy Marshall
It was 57 years ago, when Gramma passed away, but it seems like yesterday. I was 12 years old. I can still remember everything about her, from her grey-white, beautifully styled, hair to her gnarled fingers. I can still see her knees, really big, and round…of course, I didn’t know anything about arthritis back then.
She was in my life from the day my adopted parents brought me home from the hospital. Gramma lived with us and from my first memories, she was simply the BEST!
My daddy died from leukemia when I was 5 years old and my mom instantly became the bread-winner for our little family of three. So, it was gramma and me from the time I first opened my eyes in the morning until she put me to bed, always with a story, either her own made-up one about princesses, or from my favorite Mickey Mouse Goes on A Picnic book. (Which I still have waiting to pass it on to my son for my own grandchildren!)
Gramma taught me everything…from making mud pies (but always dressed in a frilly dress…no tom-boy for me!) to making real pies, crust from scratch, of course! She taught me to read and count…and when it was time to go to pre-school (to play with other children), I only wanted to play with gramma.
We had the best time together; I didn’t know she was teaching me to be a survivor, but as the years went by that was certainly what was to happen.
Every baby needs a grandma! More about Gramma and Me next time!