The lines on her face were like the scorched roads of Texas that slowly pull towards Mexico. The ones around her mouth seemed to have too much practice in the wrong position.
When she walked, her left leg fell behind, slightly, as if the years had piled on and the load was too much.
The mechanic in me could almost hear the bone grinding like a bad gear, too long without oil, but the son in me saw the pain of the years.
Why then, when her two grandchildren came, a boy and a girl that a decade or more disappeared from her body …and face? Her voice became musical again, her eyes lit up, and the road lines temporarily disappeared.
Her presence became boundless as she reached for the first one then the other for hugs that only meant one thing. She loved them.
She did not see them enough, she complained to me. And, it was obvious, she would never see them enough with the latest doctor’s examination.
Both of my children were too young to remember her, as she passed quickly out of our lives, after that.
Neither of them would ever hear her sing or laugh as I did.
Neither of them would see the hundreds of pages of songs she wrote.
Grands, father, and mother, love those grandkids as it was meant to be loved.
Love them now so they can remember you when they have children of their own.