I Made It!

My grandmother died at the age of 99 To her last days, she loved to tell the story, many times over, of a day when I was about four. I had been pestering my parents to go visit Grandma and had been repeatedly refused. Instead, we called Grandma and I told her my plight. In fact, contrary to my parents’ clear statements otherwise, I told Grandma that I was, indeed, coming to visit.

Apparently, somewhere along the line my parents relented and the visit took place. What was so memorable to my grandmother over a span of 45 years was that, upon our arrival, she opened the door to me tromping up the front steps announcing “I made it!”.

Why did my grandmother admire that so much? Were these traits ones she hoped others saw in her, that she liked to think she saw in her self, that could be extruded and preserved by recognizing them in me?

I love thinking of her loving the story. I love telling of her telling it. I love asking the obvious questions. Can I tell you again the story of my grandmother when she opened the door to me tromping up the steps . . . ?