this was once my grandmothers house { how we must love fully }

This was once my grandmothers house. 

I remember when I was a young girl and we would travel there-- I would always run fast from the car to step on the grass. 

She had the fancy grass. You know, the kind that stands two inches from the ground and feels like you're walking on clouds.

I remember her yard was always so beautiful and full of life. Her backyard was full of flowers and there was always laundry hanging out to dry. I remember she went out and fed the birds each morning, even calling one Robin by name, Robbie. He would eat rasins from her hand. 

She had raised him from a baby and set him free in the back yard.

I remember the day of my Papa's funeral, the adults sat inside listening to the funeral service on a cassette tape. I was outside, kicking a ball against the shed and back. 

 

I remember the way her door would sloowwwly close with that hissing sound only screen doors can make.

I remember my mother and her, never getting a long. I remember my mom always saying, "Mom, you don't have to make your yard look perfect, you really are too old to be out there doing all that work." I remember going for walks while visiting -- my mom would always say, "Oh, my goodness. I don't know why your Mema chooses to live in this neighborhood. The houses are so close together."

I was 12 when my grandmother passed away. I remember my mother had a letter from my grandmother,  sitting on the kitchen counter. She had been to busy to write her back. Those were the days when you paid for long distance and nobody had a home computer.

When the call came in that she had passed away, I remember how badly it hurt my mother.

And now, when you hear my mother talk of my grandmother, she has only good things to say about her. That grandmother she use to talk about is no more and she dreams of just one more day with her mom, in that cramped neighborhood, with that perfect yard-- just one day to sit and love.

So when I tell her I'm making a trip to Oklahoma City she asks me to go.

"Go and take some pictures for me, Kati. I haven't seen it since we laid her to rest."

And today when I give her the pictures, I simply write:

"I hope these photos can bring good memories and not bad pain. It is such a good testament to how we must love fully today because we are not guaranteed tomorrow."

I love you,
Kati

And it did to me, like writing somehow always does--

it changed me. 

May we love fully today friends, 

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