Adoption throughout my Life: Part II

A very important thought crossed my mind last month after I wrote:

adoption throughout my life.

Without meaning to, I totally neglected to write about my mom's mom, Patricia Nelson.

I learned a lot from my Grandma Nelson.
No matter what anyone else in the family says, I was her favorite, and she was mine.
(I don't think anyone would disagree.)
Before she passed away, she told me that if she was ever going to join a church, it would be the Mormon Church. (my mom was a convert at 16)

Even though she didn't join the church on this earth, Grandma was one of the most Christ-like people I have ever known.

She was a silent-giver.
When my cousin Ed (a cousin on my dad's side of the family) was in a life-threatening car accident, Grandma sent him money in the hospital.
But, she didn't tell anyone about it.

When mom and dad got married, each birthday card to my dad was addressed to "son," instead of "son-in-law."

She was accepting of all types of people.

My grandma had a diabetic son, and she never made me feel like a burden when I visited.

She was and still is:

kind,
compassionate.
generous.
loving
AND
fiesty

I would blame my fiestiness on my mom, but she is still living and can defend herself, so I will blame my fiestiness as well as my mom's on Grandma.

I adored my grandma.
And, that is probably an understatement.

I loved my grandma.
I called her often.
I wrote her many letters; including letters telling her that I wanted to come live with her because my parents were soooo mean, (Yes, I wrote these in my journal when I was 8, and I laugh when I re-read them)

She never forgot my birthday.

She came to watch me star as "Snow White," in the community theatre.

My grandma let me come stay with her for weeks at a time. She would drive 2 hours to my house just to pick me up, and then we would make the 2 hour trek back to her house together (and I never went home without having been spoiled rotten.)

She loved me.

And, I love her.

When she passed away, I was heart-broken.
I hung her clothes in my closet, and I would cry as I opened the door, and I could remember the way she smelled.
I drove her Blue Chevy Silverado truck, and I bawled when it was no longer driveable because that represented so much of my time with my grandma.

Each time we pass a February 7,
I think of my grandma, and I celebrate with her favorite flower (yellow roses.)

She would have adored being a great grandmother. And, she would have been great.

I desparately wanted Lincoln to be born on February 7th, as a celebration of two of my favorite people, but I'm sure she wanted me to hold out a little longer, so that necessity called for two celebrations in February; one all for her on the 7th, and one for my sweet boy, Lincoln, on the 8th.

Consequently, I think this is why she also always claimed to have 2 birthdays! (More reasons to celebrate!!!)

Now, Grandma was adopted as a young girl, and, although I know little of her birthparents, I am so grateful for their decision, way back when, to give her a hope for a better world, by placing her for adoption.

I'm grateful to a woman, who loved so freely, and conquered so much.

Now, I cannot help but think that she has somehow been watching over me. I know she smiles kindly at me.

And, I know for certain that:
she would have loved to be around to meet the man of my dreams
scolded me when I was soooooooooooo mean to Lincoln,
and shed tears of joy at the prospect of Henry being adopted into our family.

Grandma, I love you.
I wish you could be here.
I wish you could see how happy David makes me.
I wish you could see how beautiful my Lincoln is.
I wish you could be here to witness the miracle of adoption once again.
I am so grateful for the kind of woman you were.
I miss you.

I love you.