I woke up to the sound of my alarm yelling at me to get ready for church. I quickly disregarded my mother's feelings and went back to sleep anyway. I woke up in a fog and have yet to come out of it. I ran the usual Sunday errands with my mom, aside going to church, and found myself overwhelmed with memories; some were good and some were bad.
Every Sunday my mom and I make a trip to the Yorkhouse, an assisted living home in Marion, to visit my dementia- stricken grandma. I stepped out of the house and was enveloped in an unusual scent that isn't usually sensed this time of year. The smell of spring filled the air and I soon found that my winter jacket wasn't needed for today's weather. It still remains cloudy, yes, but it was a beautiful surprise nonetheless. During the drive to the Yorkhouse I was lost in constant daydreaming. I rarely have a chance to reflect on my childhood, but the more I do the more I realize that I have forgotten what it's like to be a child. Even though, in the broad sense of the word, I am one.
I can't even remember the last time I found endless joy in just running through the yard or playing tag with my bestfriends. Even such a fun game as softball eventually became impossible to enjoy because of the strict emphasis on winning or, even worse, the idea of the other team losing. I miss my childhood. I realize now that time passes you by whether you want it to or not. In the words of Ferris Bueler, "life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while you might miss it."
When Mom and I finally arrived at the Yorkhouse we dragged our feet down the hall to my grandma's room. We knocked three times with a sigh and Grandma discretely opened the door with a great big smile and words of welcome. We proceeded to spend the rest of the hour discussing how Grandma came to the Yorkhouse and the events proceeding Grandpa's death a little over a year ago. Is the conversation progressed, I began looking around the room. Seeing visions of Grandpa, I began to daydream about how it would be if he were still around. Paul was the closest thing I've every had to a grandpa. Around 11 years ago my grandma met a wonderful man and together they decided to spend the rest of their lives together. I was very young at the time, but I loved Paul dearly. I can still feel his hugs and smell his scent. I can hear distinctly the sound of his voice addressing me as "pretty girl" and see his smile. He was one of the kindest men that I have ever known. Not only was he an angel to me, he cared for my grandma very much and wanted to make sure that she was always taken care of.
People really do come into our lives for all sorts of reasons. Today was a good day filled with good memories.