Anyway, I haven't found anything remotely amusing about Granny and Pawpaw's relocation, so I just don't say anything. I've been thinking a lot about them since Christmas, because The Kid unintentionally broke my heart on Christmas Eve. It was our third Christmas that we didn't go to Granny and Pawpaw's house for Christmas Eve, and even though the last few were something of a ritual, I can't forget that it's what I'm supposed to be doing.
We were sitting at our house with Mom and Dad after a Christmas light drive with the kid, trying to create new traditions. We ate pizza and opened one present each. I strategically gave The Kid her package that "Big Pawpaw" sent her, because I had already peeked and knew they contained a pair of Christmas PJs that she would love to sleep in that night. I also figured that for me, it would be the only small way I could pretend they were here.
When I told her who gave them to her, her face lit up. "Big Pawpaw and Granny?! Awwwww...I think he would like to see me. And I would give Granny a hug so she'll feel better." She doesn't know that there isn't a cure for Alzheimer's, but I sure do wish a hug would do it. Or at least that I could be young enough to believe that it might. Or at the very least that my child could give it a try. It sure wouldn't hurt.
I sat there, soaking in these statements "from the mouth of a babe", and I just wanted to die. I didn't even know she knew (or remembered, since it was apparently mentioned to her at some point) that Granny was sick. I went to visit in May, and all I told her was who I was visiting and that she couldn't go because she was too little for the airplane. If only I could be as sensitive as my child, then I might begin to deal with some things.
My dad called Big Pawpaw to let The Kid thank him, and I know he couldn't hear a word she was saying, but my heart was longing for him to know her. She told him she would like to come and see him, but she was too big to fit on the airplane. So she may have been a little confused on the reason I gave her...it was still better than "You can't come with me because 1) I can't afford to buy you a ticket 2) I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up with everything and you in the airport in Atlanta when I have to change planes alone and 3) I don't want you to remember Granny sickly and dying when you didn't know her before."
I guess when she's older I'll be able to tell her all about them. I was never as close to them as I wanted to be or wished I was, and if I had known how quickly they would be gone, I would have tried even harder. Maybe this summer we'll go on some bike rides by their old house. I might even take her down to the boat docks to feed the ducks. I know her memories of them won't be her own, but maybe some day we can share mine. Until then, I hope I can learn to share my daughter's ability to know just the right thing to say.
