Recently, my daughter came to visit me at my new home. We had a great visit, and had a lot of fun with my grandson and with his aunt and uncle (my other two children). We got time to talk about plans for the future, and just to visit. Nothing unusual.
Nothing, that is, until it was time to leave. I kissed and hugged everybody goodbye at the doorway, and walked back into the house. But then, that niggling feeling that I had forgotten something very important came to me. I had to rush out of the house in my bare feet so I could wave my daughter and son-in-law and my grandson out the driveway. It took a long time to figure out why this seemed so important to me. Then it came to me.
About every four years or so, my mom and dad drove a great distance to visit my mom’s mother. We would visit for a week, or two weeks. And when it came time to leave, I would look back to see my grandmother standing in the yard, waving to us until we could no longer see her. I hadn’t thought about this for a long time, but it became imperative that I do the same thing. I had to do “The Grandmother Thing,” and wave to them until I could no longer see them. Even though they live about 15 minutes away, I HAD to do this thing.
Because I am a Grandmother.