August 1, 2012
One last night with my grandparents before another flight across the seas. Sweet corn and fried okra. Painting GramBea’s nails. Smiling as PaCharley answers the phone and is, as always, unbelievably thrilled to hear the voice on the other end of the line. He has the uncanny ability to be overjoyed at the sight, or sound, of a person he knows. What the rest of the world would view as an interruption, he sees as a delight. We wind down now for our customary early night, watching the Olympics. “This is amazing!” is a common refrain I hear. I smile, and I muse on the blessedness of family ties, binding tightly, rooting deeply. Deeper still.