I remember when Grandma taught me to sew. I never could get even a running stitch right.
“Your sewing is just like your writing,” she’d say. “It’s full of loose ends!” Then she’d poke me in the shoulder with her needle. She always did that when I wasn’t doing something right.
“That hurts, Grandma!”
“You know what else hurts? Childbirth! Now go apologize to your mother for being born and tell her I need my diaper changed!”
Mom told me that she had a terrible childhood, though she loved her mother all the same and we should all love her and take care of her because she’s family. Whenever Mom talked about how much we should love Grandma, I knew I had to leave the room or she would snap at me or give me a whupping for being in the way. Of course, when I left, I would get yelled at for never helping around the house, but I wouldn’t get a whupping then. Mom just needed her space is all.
Grandma always breathed really loud and snored like a bee hive. Sometimes, late at night, I prayed for God to take her. I felt bad about that, but it seemed like she’d be happier in Heaven anyways. Grandma lived for a very long time. Maybe God was waiting for her to screw up so he wouldn’t have to let her in. I like to believe God has a plan.