My Grandma died at the beginning of December. It still seems like she's at her little house in east Tennessee gardening, cooking and sewing. But she's not, she's in a better place-an eternally joyful place. My mom sent me this picture last week. She wrote a card with it that said:
"I love the way your Grandma is holding on to you in this picture. You can see she is proud of you, adores you, enjoys you. My mom was not a 'poser'-she was totally natural."
Five years ago this picture wouldn't have meant that much to me. I would have criticized the gray day and barren trees. I would have scoffed at my double chin and the fact that I look like my brother. But now, it stirs up so many emotions. It's a photograph that captures precious memories of my Grandma's love for me. It reminds me of the way she stood-her arms, her hands. I can almost hear her voice through the picture. I love that her sweet house is in the background.
I wonder what the day was like? I wonder what we talked about? I wonder if I ate one of her biscuits that cloudy day?