Today I took my mother to the airport so she could fly to Houston to see her ailing mother. Boarding the plane she was keenly aware that the next time she made this flight it could be the last. My grandmother turned 85 this week. She was never like any other grandmothers. The summers I spend at her house created the best memories of my childhood. Not too many kids spent their summer e at the Mexican flea market selling antique Depression glass and jewelry. I lived off of Pepsi, chewy sprees and anything from Dairy Queen. I have never seen this woman cook, iron, clean, or pay full price. She chained smoke, planted big deep kisses in my cheeks, stayed up late watching soap operas and although she never bought me anything new or really desired, she spoiled me rotten. For my tenth birthday she gave me a used lava lamp and some antique Elizabeth Taylor paper dolls (most kids were getting Atari’s). By the time I was 12 I knew the value of anything marked “occupied Japan” and Fire King. In my teenage years, we shared stories of her youth and packs of cigarettes. However, her life is coming to a close after 8 1/2 decades. Taking my mother to the airport, the pain she feels for her dying mother is almost tangible. I watch my frazzled mother exit the car, and say a silent prayer of thanks for all that is, at this moment, mine.
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