The Stories We'll Tell

I think it's fair to say that your daddy and I are the individuals most eager to meet you, baby girl, but I know for a fact that we're not the only ones excited for your coming (could it really be coming up so soon?). I can't wait for you to meet most of your grandparents and your great-grandma.  And of course, there are those whom I wish your life could have been blessed by, but for whom we'll have to share the memories of instead.

Tomorrow we are saying a final goodbye to your great-grandma as we bury her in the same cemetery where your great-grandfather also was laid two years ago.  It saddens me to think that your life will never be touched by hers in person, and I sometimes feel frustrated that you were thisclose to being able to meet her. 

Your great-grandma was among those most excited about you, once we told everyone you were on the way.  She reassured me things were all right when I was spending most of my days feeling sick as a dog, telling me how her three pregnancies (your great-auntie, great-uncle and grandpa) went.  "It's good thing... means baby is growing," she told me when I told her how much trouble I was having keeping any food in my stomach during the first trimester.  Later, as you grew more and my belly began to swell up, she always asked if you moved around a lot and how you were doing, if I was doing a good job keeping you well-fed and growing.  The very last time I saw her, I showed her where you were poking your bony little feet out on the left side of my belly.  She was always quiet and reserved, but that made her laugh.

Some of my most vivid memories of her are surprisingly from when I was a very young child myself, and stayed with her occasionally during the day.  I remember her house with its orange-brown carpet, olive green linoleum and creaking floorboards.  I remember the antique cream-colored crib, complete with faded illustrations and pastel balls in a cutout on the headboards, that she'd put me in for naps during the day as a toddler.  I rarely slept during those times, opting instead to pull myself up, push aside the curtain covering the window next to the crib, and watch her next door neighbor as he tended his garden outside.  Sometimes she'd come in and catch me and make me lie down again, but other times she let me skip out on naptime and watch cartoons with her in the living room instead. She could be strict, and she had expectations of her grandchildren and their behavior, but all of us knew she had a big soft spot for each of us.

The beautiful new white crib that you'll be sleeping in a few months after you arrive is a gift from her, little girl.  How I wish sometimes that she would have been able to lay you in it and smile -- because as stoic and aloof as she seemed at times, I know you would have made her smile.

I hope your daddy and I remember these special people who have been such a big part of our lives, and always make an effort to tell you about how they helped us become who we are today.