Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Saying very little, but knowing all that really matters.

As a child I remember many cold winter mornings, being carried by my father out to our old clunker car in a blanket. We would fake as if we were asleep and he knew it. He would talk to me, and I would always respond in only fake moans and weak "whats?" He would laugh. He put the three of us kids in the back seat (we all fit lying down) and drove us to Grandma's house. He would carry us in and grandma would love us. She didn't just watch us. She loved us. How does a person define the unspeakable impact that the special people make in our lives. To my Grandmother Allred, I was precious. I felt safe, I felt protected, and I was taught by example. Her life was defined by patience and tolerance, with a spark of stubbourn resolve. She fed us at least 100 loaves of hand kneaded wheat bread, with butter, honey, and milk. I remember watching her take the cream off the top of the milk everyday. She would then start kneading bread for hours. She had a way of shaping things into something worth having. She did it over and over again, with love and goodness. She said very little with her mouth, but spoke volumes with her hands. She was the only person I let cut my hair until I was 7, and the only person I let cut my finger and toe nails until I was 5. She had a way of calming me. When she met my long awaited daughter she sat there holding my hand just as she always did and said what she always said. "Oh my precious, Matthew" "I love you", and I already knew. I told her the same, and she already knew. She always taught us to express our love for each other, and it has blessed my life everyday since. Grandma, Do you know how much you make up the best parts of me? You owed us nothing and you gave us all you could. Thanks for coming to Christmas Eve Dinner during my childhood and watching me spill the fruit punch. Thank you for all the socks you gave me for Christmas. Thank you for allowing me to feel great about me. Thank you for allowing me hour upon hour of time to run free through the hills behind your house. There are days, I still go there in my dreams. Thank you for raising my father. I believe that God will make all things right in the end, and I will see you. You will hold my hand and call me your precious. Then we will sit again saying very little but knowing all that really matters.