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A Tribute to a Beloved Grandma- My Source of Spring

Written by Hannah Henthorne...amazing daughter, accomplished student, avid runner, food nut, and blogger extraordinaire... It is in those first few days of Spring that I think about her most. I’ve never given much thought to this seemingly strange occurrence; for there is no tangible reason I should think of her during this time. My grandmother was of a rare kind, increasingly difficult to come by these days. As most grandmas are, she loved her grandchildren and family endlessly. That love evident in the genuine smile and words she emitted when around us. She radiated warmth.


As the years progressed, her health deteriorated, but her spirit for the simplicity of life around her blossomed. I looked forward to sleepovers at Grandma’s, but not because she spoiled me with gifts or took me to dinner at a restaurant that mom and dad never did. Instead, we stayed in. Comforted not by television, but by board games and laughter around grandma’s four person oak table. Standing in her retro orange-carpeted kitchen as she diligently taught my young and wandering mind the kitchen basics. Using windowsill herbs and garden fresh vegetables to teach me the best stuff comes from a bit of patience and a genetic green thumb. One instance in particular stands out in my mind when I reach to recall a memory of her. It was the end of the night at one of those sleepovers; time for bed. We trekked up the stairs together, and began performing my pre sleep rituals. Grandma never left my side. I jumped in bed with as much energy as I could feign, telling grandma I wasn’t tired yet. She sat by my side a few minutes, tucking the blanket in on either side of my body, securing me in a sleep cocoon. Thinking back to that moment now, I felt as secure in that bed, warm and worry-free, as I do with the memory of her today. For it was that mere gesture of protection and love that defined her whole being.


But that is not the memory I conjure up. It is what happened immediately after, as she was leaving my room. Just before she closed the door, I remembered to call out the words, “I love you.” I wasn’t sure if she heard, but I wanted to say it anyway, as a way to seal this perfect night. My answer was received as I heard the door quietly creak back open and the comforting sound of grandma’s voice reply, “I’ve been waiting all day to hear those words, I love you too.” It is that simple yet slam-packed sentimental statement that has stayed with me all these years. Not only the memory of this moment but the moral as well. I learned the power of words, the power and rarity of pure love. This sentiment, something I thought Grandma knew, was enough to make her day as well as mine. I’d like to think this moment we shared resonated with her as it did with me, for I lacked the courage to bring it up in person to her, out of fear it was a dream. This memory gives me promise. It gives me hope during moments of doubt. Promise that souls like Grandma’s do exist in this increasingly insensitive world, and hope that I can one day grow to be the gentle, graceful woman she was. It is the culmination of Grandma’s most gracious traits—her warmth, her ability to make a flower sprout from the smallest of seeds, and most importantly, the promise and hope she emitted—that have helped me conclude that she is my Spring. Her attributes are synonymous, if not identical, to the characteristics of springtime. My winter can be warm if I so desire. All I have to do is think back to that night at Grandma’s, her smile, her hands, and the snow brightens to fresh grass; the crisp air no longer burns but warms my cheeks. All from the comfort of knowing Spring—and Grandma—is never too far away. Written by Hannah Henthorne...amazing daughter, accomplished student, avid runner, food nut, and blogger extraordinaire...