My Women

My grandmother died a week ago today. She lived with us for most of my life, and she was my best friend. She wasn't always the easiest person to get along with, but what Southern lady ever is? We've all got that stubborn vein running through us. I used to go in her room, fall across her bed, and talk to her about everything--even things I couldn't talk to anyone else about. She always told me her honest opinion, and I could always tell her mine. She and I watched every movie Shirley Temple ever made together. She had them taped from television on old VHS tapes, and we'd even watch the old commercials. Our favorites were Little Miss Broadway and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. For every birthday or Christmas we celebrated, she gave me a new stack of Nancy Drew books. We loved going on lunch dates to Fazoli's, and every person at the Lake Howard McDonald's knew her by name. I make her sweet potato casserole every Thanksgiving. We called her Gingo. 

My baby sister was commissioned into the United States Air Force as a Second Lieutenant this past Sunday, and then she graduated from one of the top engineering schools in the country on Monday. I'm unspeakably proud of her, and I'm completely devastated at the same time. There's something very upsetting about watching your baby sister swear to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I object. She's the smartest, coolest, prettiest girl in the world, and I can't believe she's this grown up.

This Sunday is Mothers Day. This hasn't been a particularly easy day for me ever since my time in South Africa, but I have the best mom in the whole entire world, and she deserves to be celebrated every day. I love you, Mom.