Grammie Words

*This was originally written as a Facebook post on 3/14/20. I’ve made slight edits and wanted to share it in this space as well.

“Mama, can we do Grammie words?” my seven-year-old son asked as I pulled down the chain on his bedside lamp on Wednesday night. “Not tonight. Remind me tomorrow.” And he did remind me the next day, except it was 8:37am and he had a school bus to catch. Yesterday mid-morning he showed up outside the closed bathroom door. “Mama. You SAID we could do Grammie words!” he declared, his voice firm yet muffled through the door. “You’re right, bud. I did.” And so we sat down on my bed, flipped back the lid on the little glass jar, and I started to read. “Peace. Joy. Integrity. Compassion, healing, purpose, faith…”

During a visit with my grandmother a few years before she passed, she handed me a crinkled sandwich bag. The bag had likely held previous treasures and was now sealed up tight. “I read this list of words in a magazine,” she had told me. “I thought they were important.” She always was a lover of words. I glanced at the bag and it contained a scattered stack of tiny white cards, each about the size of a return address label. Every card had a word written on it along with a tiny picture. I honestly don’t remember much more about the exchange, chances are good I was distracted by the needs of the boys and the topic never returned to the bag of words. Once home, I placed the collection in a safe spot in my drawer and forgot about it.

Grammie died a year and a half ago, and we are still reeling from her loss. I miss her. My boys miss her. I think the only thing harder than missing someone is to watch your children miss them, too. One day I remembered the words in my drawer and pulled out the little bag I had placed there a few years prior. As I began to look through the words, I realized how much time and intention had gone into creating this little collection. I could see ink lines along the edges of some of the cards as well as small marks in places, evidence of careful measurement. The edges of the cards looked perfectly straight though I discovered that they wavered just slightly in places. Controlled scissor cuts. I suspect Grammie used one of those white gift boxes intended for clothing to create the cards themselves. She went on to write a different word in careful black lettering on each of the 35 cards, then finalized each card with (to my slight amusement) a sticker of a wrapped hard candy. I read through every single card. It brought comfort to speak aloud the words that Grammie had deemed so important. They deserve a place of higher honor than the recycled bag in the drawer, I thought. So I got them a little glass jar, placed them inside along with a few pieces of Grammie’s sea glass for good measure, and set them on my dresser.

Some nights at bedtime, my son feels Grammie’s loss a little more intensely and we grieve. One such night I told him about the collection of words and asked if he’d like to read them with me. He was intrigued. By the time we reached the end of the stack his breathing had relaxed, his tears had dried, and he had learned more than a few new vocabulary words. He asked if we could “do Grammie words” again sometime. “Absolutely,” I responded. And we have, at least a handful of times since.

The requests to “do Grammie words” usually come during times of overwhelm. (Or occasionally, to stall at bedtime.) After taking a moment to sit physically close and share the practice of reading aloud the words, a calm assurance descends upon us both. We take a deep breath, tightly latch the lid of the jar after placing the treasured collection back inside, and move on to the next task. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he persisted for three days straight in asking to read our sacred words during the crazy, uncertain, increasingly complicated week that we have all just shared.

I’d like to offer our Grammie words to you, whether literally or in concept. There is a comfort that comes in speaking of and sharing her. Use her words when you need them. Know that they are tucked away to be pulled out when it is all too much. Reflect and breathe, because that time is never wasted.

•