Next week my mom will get to celebrate her father's 97th birthday. Crazytown. That's a lot of years.
But on Saturday my mother-in-law Mary recognized the 40 years that have passed since cancer took her mom. That's even more years than 97 in a lot of ways. That's no mom in the front pew at your wedding day. And no mom beside the delivery bed on their grandchild's day of birth. That's a lot of mother's day cards that were never bought. A lot of lunches never shared. A lot of conversations never spoken.
John told me the other day that in college, in the midst of your typical teenage independence and stay-far-from-home mentality, he remembers thinking, man, I'm glad my mom is alive.
Amen, to that. I'm beyond glad that all our parents are alive. And a part of Annie's life.
I can't wait until the day in a few years where I'll be running late and get to call one of Annie's grandparents to pick her up from school.
Because, clearly, she prefers them to us...
I realize that not everyone has fairy tale stories to tell about their relationship to their parents. Ours isn't one of a fairy tale either. But we are very lucky. We do have parents that are alive. We do have parents that support us, encourage us, help us. We do have parents that we genuinely enjoy being around. And so we're very excited to raise Annie among this community of grandparents. It's a gift that some people have lost to cancer or tragedy or distance, but that we are thrilled to get to offer to our children.