Off to bury my Grandmother. Be back soon.

When I was a small child, I couldn't say "Grandmother". It came out "Geemutter". Satisfied with my attempt, she pressed me no further. Geemutter she was, and Geemutter she stayed. Even though I wasn't the only grandchild, I felt as though I were. She always had a way of making me feel like I was her favorite. Long summers being spoiled to the core. The smell of a home cooked meal greeting me as I walked through the door. Searching earnestly for the 6 layer chocolate fudge iced cake I knew would be awaiting me. Lulled to sleep in her lap twiddling the solitary pearl pendant on her necklace. Playing in the oscillating water sprinkler outside, my little bare feet sinking in the thick carpet of St Augustine grass. Boo boo's and band aids. The regular evening constitutional stroll around the block at sunset. Dairy Queen, McDonalds, toy stores...all the things a little boy in the 1970's could want. Always the first to call on my birthday. Always the one to be present at milestones in my life. High School. Boot Camp. Police Academy. The birth of my children. She gave that same pearl necklace to my wife for my newborn son to twiddle while she rocked him to sleep. To the rescue with a check when times in my young adult life were tough....more than once. The picture perfect model of proper southern grace and charm. Always gentle. Always caring. Quick to forgive and slow to judge. This world has many grandmothers. It has countless grandmas. Maw maws and mee maws, nanas and grannies. They are all unique in there own ways....but there's only been one Geemutter and I will miss her so.