I remember that she used to give me my own bowl of whipped cream. My mother hated it, but I loved it. I guess that's what grandparents are supposed to: Corrupt the grandchildren's upbringing. This was not my grandmother, but at that moment in my life, she came close. She took me on trips, I played in her fairytale garden in which I became Alice in Wonderland, she spoiled me rotten.
She was a big part of my childhood. My extra grandmother as I usually refer her as. I guess I always imagined that she was somewhere in the world. Living. Breathing. Laughing. Instead suddenly life becomes so small, once I found out she is very ill. Seeing her, lying there on the bed was heart-breaking. This, to me, great woman, who taught me life. Took me places. Ill. Can hardly breath. Sleeps after a couple of sentences.
It leaves an impression. Makes one think about life. Have I lived the way I wanted? Have I done all the things I dreamed of? Have I travelled enough? Have I loved too little or too much? Have I taken risks? Have I trusted enough in the fact that God is in control and knows me well enough to know what is best for me?
Ingen kommentarer:
Send en kommentar