Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul Read Free

him.
    When he was a week old, the nurses informed us that he was almost ready to return to the hospital in the small town where we lived and he had been born. Yes, he still needed to be kept warm and fed by a tube for a few more weeks before he could come home, but he no longer needed all the special equipment.
    As we celebrated this good news with smiles and hugs, the nurse said, “Now that he can be out of the incubator longer, would Grandma like a turn holding him?”
    Would I? Would I?! I’d dreamed of little else for the past seven days.
    I settled myself in the rocking chair and the nurse handed him to me. He was so light in my arms . . . such a tiny bundle. But he nuzzled his face against me and snuggled close. I felt a rush of love and emotion surge through me, and the tears flowed down my cheeks. Here he was, my beautiful little grandson, in my arms at last, breathing on his own and healthy and one step closer to coming home. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was cry. My arms no longer ached as I held him near and took in the magic of the moment as I held him for the very first time.
    Teresa Pitman

She Looks Just Like . . .
    A man finds room in a few square inches of his face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the expression of all his history, and his wants.
    Ralph Waldo Emerson
    As I gazed in awe at my newborn granddaughter, all I could think about was the wonder of God’s handiwork— until I heard the words, “She’s all her mother, even her toes.” Each word was spoken with emphasis, followed by an echo, “Yes, even her toes,” as if that was the final word on the subject.
    I stood outnumbered in a sea of in-laws. Gazing at the ten tiny pieces of evidence before the court of family opinion, I failed to see the referenced genetic code etched in such delicate pink appendages.
    Can’t my son claim even one little toe for our family? I silently cried out.
    I had no idea what it would be like to be a first-time grandma. All my friends said it was the most wonderful experience in the world. So far my experience wasn’t going too well.
    Slowly, the in-laws’ convictions got to me. I left the hospital with one prevailing thought: I guess I’m a grandma of another family’s baby.
    The personal grandma chamber in my heart closed up. After waiting thirty years, it had flowed with grandma’s blood for a brief thirty minutes only.
    You need to pull yourself together, I thought as I climbed into the car. Suddenly, my first memories of the baby’s mother flashed before my mind—how her smile illuminated the sanctuary when she was a high-flying angel at the Crystal Cathedral, how her fingers performed an Irish jig when she signed for the deaf, how her blonde hair and flowered skirt blew in the wind of the spirit when she worship-danced. A rare beauty, within and without, she had stolen my heart.
    Even if my son hadn’t married her, she would have been my friend for life. Of course it’s a privilege to have a grandchild who resembles her!
    With excitement, I hung out at the baby’s house the next day and the next. I watched and waited for my granddaughter to wake up so I could make early eye contact with that beautiful face. Days turned into weeks, but eventually the bluest eyes, rosiest cheeks, blondest hair and most radiant smile greeted me. I beamed back at her until my smiley muscles ached.
    In another few months, her fingers, like precise pincers, held the tiniest of objects. I clapped my hands with amazement.
    In a few more months, she toe-danced, twirled and reached for the sun. Overjoyed, I spun around and around with her.
    She was just like her angel mother—her smile, her hair, her fingers and yes, even her toes.
    The grandma chamber in my heart pumped with delight—until one startling day. I looked in her crib and saw a different child gazing back at me.
    What is going on, God? You gave me a granddaughter who looks like