From the moment I could "solid" food till one day when I was 17, I would spend every Friday night at her house. That house was like a time warp, a safety bubble of my very own. Friday was where I left my troubles at the door, a problem for another day. It didn't matter what the week brought me, Friday was smiles, laughter and adventure. Friday was ours.
Nan was one of those people who silently helped others. She was never someone who got deep into things with me, but in her own way helped me through so much. She had a way of guiding me without me always knowing it. Now that I am older I've realized the questions she'd occasionally ask me - such as "how are things at home" - was her gentle way of checking in on me and mom.
She wasn't perfect, but she was mine. And she loved me fiercely, something only rivaled by my moms love for me. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her. But then again I think I've really been missing her since I was 17 and I stopped spending Friday nights with her. What I wouldn't give to make that decision over again - but I didn't know, then, that we were on borrowed time.
~ C
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