My Mamaw is 86 years old. And it’s been an exciting 86 years, not the least of which involved meeting me some 20 something years ago. I was somewhere around 14, 15 when I met her. The grandmother of a friend of mine, who has become “sister to my heart”*, I was instantly taken by her. Now in my 40’s, she has been a constant source of love and support in my life. And I hope that I’ve been the same to her.
As the years marched by, more things have taken place than could be put in one blog. Including a fun, on-going competition among her grandchildren to get her to admit “I’m your favorite.”
On a visit to her home two weeks ago, she gave me my inheritance. She didn’t really know it, and I didn’t expect it. But there it was, more precious than gold and jewels. One of her sons called her, and while talking with him she said, “He came to visit me. He’s my adopted grandson. The first time he met me, he called me Grandmaw. I love that boy.”
* phrase loosely borrowed from the Valdemor series by Mercedes Lackey
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