This is a picture of my grandmother, I called her Babar, at her 90th birthday party. You may wonder why a classy southern belle would be blowing a party favor while having brunch at the club. The answer seems clear enough to me--her great-granddaugther asked her to! I have spoken to many friends about how much I loved my grandmother. She lived down the street from me almost my entire life. I spent probably as many nights at her house as my own--and so did my friends. My friends knew to call me at her house if I wasn't at home. We'd all come to her house sometimes for lunch, sometimes after a football game. Sometimes we had the courtesy to call. But probably most often we didn't. She loved listening to our stories. She passed away peacefully a couple of years ago. It has surprised me how sad I have been at losing her. You're supposed to lose your grandparents. But this really hurts. I think about her almost every day. Especially now with another baby on the way--the only baby that she will never meet. I had a dream the other night that she walked by me and touched my cheek as if to say, "it's alright, I'm here." I hope she looks down on us and meets her last great-grandchild. I miss her. She epitomized Southern hospitality. She was Christian. She was gracious. She was welcoming. She was beautiful. She loved family. She loved fried chicken. She was my Babar.
