Nineteen Years and Five Months

I've waited nineteen years and five months for the day to come when my great-niece would need all the things I'd stored away for her since the day she was born.  She's very special to me.  She's in my heart.  First of all because she was named after me.  And maybe living close to her all these years has made our bond even stronger.  When she was just a toddler, learning to talk, she would walk up to people and pull on their dress or pants leg, or whatever she could get her hands on.  With very dramatic hand gestures and a loud voice she would say, "Hey! Hey!"  And when she had their full attention she would hold her chubby little hands out in exclamation and say, "My Aunt Margie couldn't have babies so my mama and daddy had me and gave me to her!"  It would always bring a smile to whoever she was talking to and it would make my heart feel like it was bursting with pride.  I love her with a love that no one could possibly imagine.  I get mother's day cards, I get visits for no reason except to spend time with me.  I get surprise phone calls.  I've seen her go through some rough times in her life and she came out on the other side even stronger and with an even bigger smile.  Being a Christian girl has helped her achieve that strength and I'm proud of her faith. I'm proud of who she has become. She's determined, she's strong willed and she's independent.  And she loves me.

So this is what I've been waiting for.  For the day she'd call me and say, "Hey!  I'm ready to go through all that stuff you've been saving for me.  I'm moving to my own apartment."  The day is here.  The call from her came last Saturday.  I was nervous as I got dressed to go meet her at the lake house.  A part of me didn't want to let go of the "things" I'd stored away because I knew it meant she was growing up.  Maybe she wouldn't need me anymore.  Maybe I wouldn't see her as often.  But when she came flying down the driveway and came to a screeching halt, jumped out of the car and came running to me with a hug, I knew I'd be okay. I knew she and I would always be okay together.

We went through my jewelry.  She picked out all sorts of things that she could wear to work.  And then she picked up a very special silver ring.  She put it on her middle finger and told me she thought it was pretty.  I smiled.  It belonged to my mother, her great-grandmother.  I wanted her to have it and I wanted her to enjoy it and wear it.  Mama would have wanted her to have it.  I wish she could have been there with us.  So we placed it in a box for her to take. 

Then, we dug deeper in the big walk in closet and, together, we pulled out her hope chest.  The wooden chest smelled of cedar when we opened it.  It, too, belonged to my mother and daddy, her great-grandparents.  We found dolls from mama's collection, we found a Dresden-heart quilt that mama had made almost 20 years ago after daddy died.  We found crystal candle sticks and recipe books.  Best of all, we found a letter that I had written to her when she turned 13.  It was a letter about a hope chest.  It told her about my hopes for her, my dreams for her.  When we read it together, I cried. All were things that had been placed in the chest with her in mind.  She was now old enough to need them and to want them.  And she would take care of them and appreciate them.  I was happy about that.

Our fun continued in the attic.  We found baking dishes and china and pottery. We found plate racks and a wooden quilt rack she could use to display her great-grandmother's quilt.  I laughed at the odd things that she wanted.  She found an old toaster oven and when she spotted it she said, "Hey!  Does this thing work?"  I told her it did.  I had bought a new one of a different color to match the kitchen.  I told her it was ugly and she said she didn't care.  As long as it worked!  I love that about her.  She's exactly what you see.  No airs about her.  Just pure honesty when she opens her mouth.

So, now my girl is growing up.  There's joy in that realization.  There's sadness because she's not little any more.  She's going to make mistakes. She's going to endure happiness and sadness.  She's going to achieve great things and sometimes she might even fail.  But I'll be right there.  She's the closest thing I'll ever have to a daughter and I love her for that.  She's mine and that's something no one can take away from me.  Ever.