The Mother's Day edition and a letter to my grandma

I have been delving deeper and deeper into the literary abyss that is Vanity Fair.  I am now down to the last 200something pages and it's getting more interesting (and sad) by each page.  The more I read, the more I am disgusted with Becky Sharp's behavior.  I won't reveal too much for those who haven't read the novel.

Anyhoo, Mother's Day went well for my mom.  She was treated to a $40 per person buffet at the Bahia Hotel in Mission Beach by my dad.  They went there previously for Easter and although Dad didn't think it was worth the money, he took Mom there anyway and both of them had prime rib for breakfast (I would totally eat prime rib for breakfast any day of the week).  After work, I came home and presented my mom with a cookie I got from work but forgot to give her earlier, a glazed clay coaster, two rolls of Necco Wafers, and a pair of Carnelian disk earrings.  Although I'm not as close to my mom as I am with my dad, I love her to death.  She is my friend, my guardian, and everything in between.  She carried me for nine long, grueling months before giving birth to me on August 31st, 1981.  To quote the comment I put on Facebook a few hours ago: "Any woman can give birth but it takes a special woman to devote her time and energy to raise children in love and faith."  I feel that my mom matches that statement.  To me, she was Supermom.  The woman who kissed my boo boos, stayed home with me when I was sick, encouraged me in any future endeavors, put a card in my backpack on my first day of junior college and on my first day at the university, comforted me when I was laid off, and praised me for rebounding with another job.  Mom, I love you.

Also, I want to write a letter in this blog and dedicate it to my late grandma, Ruth.  My grandma was very special.  Although she wanted me to be more feminine and play with Barbies instead of  ninja turtles as I did, she was truly a good person.  She died the day after Christmas in 1995 of non-alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver.  I was 14 years old at the time and I didn't think my grandma would die at her age (62).  Although I never cried when she died, I still miss her and I dedicate this Mother's Day blog entry to her and my mom.  Here is my letter to my grandma.

Dear Grandma,

It's been 15 and a half years since you have passed on.  Although you lived to see me graduate from the eighth grade, you never saw me graduate high school or college.  You weren't at my 16th birthday party.  But I know you are with God and that's all that matters.  You helped me with my math homework, kissed my boo boos, and gave me advice on boys when I was in junior high.  Although I may have frustrated you at times, you still loved me and doted on your favorite (and only granddaughter). 

I'm almost 30 years old now and you are definitely on my mind, especially today.  You would've been beaming with pride as you saw me graduating from high school with honors.  You would've bear-hugged me as I turned my tassel from right to left when I received my college degree.  Had I been married with children at this point, you would be the doting great-grandma like my mom's mom.  However, even though you aren't here physically, I know you're looking down from Heaven, watching everything I do - all the mistakes and the successes that I've made so far.  You would be and still are proud of me. 

You were the Supermom to my dad and my aunt and you were definitely Supergrandma to me and my cousin Tony.  I miss those days hanging out with you, Tony, Aunt Carol, and Grandpa on the weekends.  Tony and I would ride up and down the street on our bikes with the neighborhood kids and sometimes you would come out and make sure that we were within your eyesight.  You made the best macaroni and cheese.  You were a terrific seamstress.  If only you could've taught me how to play the old, 100something year old piano that was sitting in the living room behind your recliner.  You cringed when Tony and I would play on Grandpa's old rusted truck or in the thorn-infested space between the next door neighbor.  And while I do admit that making me wear that hideous black and white kitty cat dress you bought for me was a dumb idea, I still love you anyway. 

Love,

Shannon

Writing this letter is totally pulling on my heartstrings; I feel like crying but I can't cry (I think most of you know that feeling).  The picture above is my grandma with me as a baby.  I'm going to take a guess that I was a newborn in that picture. 



That's all for now.  Fin.

This video goes out to all you moms out there.