Favorite Memories

As Mother's Day approaches, I am flooded with memories of my Grandmother ( the woman who mothered and nurtured me). My biological mother gave birth to me when she was fifteen, and with the situation being what it was, left me with my Grandparents for the first eleven years of my life (thank God). My younger brother and sister were not as fortunate, my mother kept them with her, and they both have the mental and emotional scars to prove it. My mother was not the abuser, my biological father takes the credit for that; my mother was the neglector. At this point in my life, I am able to see that she just did not have the skills or the maturity to deal with the situation, so she ignored her responsibilities to her children.



When Mother's Day rolls around each year, My Grandmother's memory comes and envelopes me like a soft, warm blanket on a cool Autumn night.



One of the best times that she and I shared was after I was grown and well into my thirties. My two children were at their father's home for the weekend for their visitation, and I, as always, was invited to stay with her. She moved into an apartment after my grandfather died, but she was either at my house, or I was at hers every weekend. This weekend was starting out to be an extraordinarily beautiful one. It was way down in November, the leaves were at their peak of color (Georgia peaks in November), the air was Indian Summer warm, and the sky was the crispest, clear blue I can ever remember. After I dropped the kids off at their Dad's, I began to feel the excitement of the moment welling up inside me. Now that I was childless for the weekend, I began to feel like a child on my way to my Grandmother's home.

With a burst of in the moment energy, I opened my grandmother's door and told her to go pack a bag. She didn't question or hesitate, she just grinned and packed. We took off that Friday evening and ended up in the Smoky Mountains. We found a cheap hotel, stashed our stuff, and went out exploring. We ate junk food while sitting on a bench on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, and then followed that with a big ice cream cone. We found a Country Music Show (her favorite) that was playing in one of the Hotel convention rooms, bought the last two tickets and ducked in. We sang along, clapped our hands, and laughed our heads off at the Hee Haw type comedian that opened the show. Next morning, we lingered over our coffee and breakfast at the Cracker Barrel (a southern cooking lovers must when one travels in the South), and then took off driving over the mountains. The sky was sapphire blue, and the leaves were gold, orange, and red at the base of the mountains. As we ascended, we began to see a dusting of snow on the fallen leaves, until we neared the top where the snow was blanketing the trees, rooftops, and the ground. As we drove along, a deer darted from the side of the road, and back into the safety of the forest here and there. We felt as if we were in an Autumn wonder-land. The next morning we headed home, after another Cracker Barrel breakfast, and we talked about all the fun we had all the way home.

I had began that weekend feeling like a child again, being without the responsibility of my children for the weekend and alone in my grandmother's care; however, my grandmother too enjoyed the luxury of feeling like a child in that unforgettable Autumn wonder-land. In that perfect moment in time, we were children together. We bonded that weekend in a way that we hadn't before, and I will forever hold that memory precious in my heart.