My Two Grandmas

Another era in my life came to an end yesterday afternoon with a phone call from my mom. My dad's mother passed away unexpectedly bringing my title as a granddaughter on this earth officially to an end.

One grandma was my biggest supporter (next to my own mom, of course) and introduced me to the Lord. She's been gone for almost three years now and yet her phone number can still be found on my cell phone. I have called it, in case you're wondering. At first one of those disconnected tones would sound; later an actual person answered. I stopped calling after that.

I didn't know the other grandma quite so well, but she was always glad to see me and would ooh and aah over my kids like a great-grandma does. She's the one I inherited my red hair from and as I looked in the mirror last night, I thought that I would never again hear the words, "I had hair that same color." Kind of makes me want to hang on to the color that I hated so much as a kid.

With that call that came in the middle of a parent-teacher conference, a dilemma arose that I have come to know and dread... do we drive back for the funeral? It seems like a no-brainer until you consider the van needs new tires, gas money is involved, and the kids would miss school. Oh, and it's a nine-hundred mile drive one way. Yeah. That's the kicker.

Both parents say they don't expect us to drive that distance for a few days when we have a December trip already planned. Logic warns against putting those expenses on a credit card. Faith says though the body is yet to be buried, the spirit and soul have moved on. My heart just wants my mom and dad.

At times like this, I feel just like a little kid that can't get her way. I feel so trapped... so stuck. Did I mention I have a cold? The bowl of Campbell's Homestyle Chicken Noodle Soup I just had just doesn't cut it, I can promise you that. My grandma, the first one, would have already made me her potato soup and sent it over. My mom would have brought me medicine, kleenex, and Lysol. My dad would have bought me a chocolate shake from the Dari Kup. I guess the combination of a death in the family and being sick on top it just naturally leads to an almost forty-year old woman wanting her mama.

Now, Mom, when you read this (like I know you will), don't get all down and worrying about me. I've got three kids that are doing their best to get along, make me hot tea, and load the dishwasher. I know the world doesn't revolve around me and whether or not I make it to a funeral; I just wish things could be different. I suppose this is where I look to my two grandmas: one gave me faith so I'll always know where I'm going, the other gave me fiery red hair so I'll remember where I've been. I guess that's what a legacy is all about.