Meeting the Grandparents
Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Joe met Lily at the hospital the morning she was born. But Nana Linda had to wait. She had a bad cold, and she would not come near this baby until she had been well for seven whole days.
So on Saturday, March 22, she was on our porch at nine o’clock sharp, and my folks came right behind her. For the first time, all three grandparents were in one room with Lily.
Nana Linda washed her hands twice, all the way up to the elbows. Then she sat down in the rocking chair, and Michael laid his daughter in his mother’s arms.
For a long time she didn’t say a word. She just looked. Then Lily scrunched up her face, and a little dimple showed up on her left cheek. Nana Linda touched it with one finger. “Tom had that very dimple,” she said softly. Michael’s dad has been with the Lord for six years now, and Michael had to step into the kitchen for a minute.
Scout lay right in the middle of the floor, so nobody could go anywhere without stepping over him.
Before everyone left, we took the pictures: Grandma Ruth, me and Lily on the couch, then Nana Linda, Michael and Lily by the window. Three generations, twice over.
A Letter from Grandma Ruth
Lily, this is Grandma Ruth. Your mama asked me to write something for your book, so here it is.
I have held a lot of babies in my life. I held your mama the day she was born, and your Aunt Emily too. I thought I knew what it would feel like to hold a grandbaby. I had no idea.
When they put you in my arms, I looked down and saw your mama. The same little chin. The same way of frowning in your sleep, like you are working out a problem. It was as if the Lord let me go back thirty years and hold my girl one more time, and then gave me you on top of it.
Being a grandmother is a different kind of love. I don’t have to fuss over the laundry or the bedtimes. I just get to love you, spoil you a little, and pray for you every morning. I have done that since the day your mama told us you were coming, and I won’t ever stop.
All my love,
Grandma Ruth
Grandpa Joe's Lullaby
My dad has sung old hymns for as long as I can remember. He sang them in the garage, in the car on the way to school, and every night at my bedside when I was little.
That afternoon, Lily got fussy, the way new babies do around four o’clock. We tried everything. Then Grandpa Joe held out his big hands and said, “Let me have her.”
He tucked her against his shoulder, started swaying, and began to sing “Jesus Loves Me” in that low, slightly crackly voice of his. Then “Blessed Assurance.” Before he finished, she was sound asleep. Nana Linda hummed along from the rocking chair. Grandma Ruth wiped her eyes. Michael caught some of it on his phone, and we have watched that little video more times than I can count.
When it was over, Dad tapped the top of his gray head and quoted Proverbs 17:6: “Children’s children are the crown of old men.” Then he grinned. “That makes me a king,” he said.
He was right. And we are all his very happy subjects.
