My grandparents live in a small whitewashed house with green shutters and a porch with two rocking chairs where my MaMa Ellen and I sit hours on end singing silly children’s songs and playing simple little games. There is a tree in the front yard, and it is perfect for climbing. It has sturdy branches and a place in the center where my PaPa Drew puts me and lets me climb around, and when I get tired, I just sit there until someone comes and gets me down. When I go in the house, I head to the kitchen where my ma ma is fixing me coffee milk and a black sandwich, a concoction of chocolate and peanut butter. After I finish eating, I help her hand wash and dry the dishes. I then go into the back room to visit my great-grandmother, who is bedridden. I climb into her bed and sit next to her, hold her hand, and talk to her about my day. My grandmother asks me, “Sarah, when I get old will you take care of me? ”
Always thinking ahead, I respond, “Of course, Mama, but I will have to ask my husband first. ”
When evening falls, I situate myself on a little pallet next to my grandparent’s bed and drift off to sleep with the events of the day still fresh in my memory. The next morning we are awakened by the ringing of the phone. It is my mom calling to see if I am ready to go home. I am not, so I stay another day and another until I run out of clothes or my parents make me go home. I go home for a few days and then come back, and the cycle continues until I grow up.
I become too old to play games, and the tree rots and has to be cut down until nothing is left, but a small stump. My great grandmother dies, and black sandwiches become to fattening to eat. My visits become scarce. I call as often as I can, and I still love to visit. Although my childhood cannot be relived, my grandmother is still my best friend.
I wrote this paper about my grandmother during my junior year of high school. I am pretty sure I made an A on the paper for my touching tribute, but I do remember getting a comment about my weak ending (although, I can promise that my grandmother loved it). Well, much more has changed since I wrote this paper.
The white washed house with the green shutters is sold, and my grandmother moves next door to my parents. My grandfather passes away, and my grandmother lives alone. A fact which makes me extremely proud of here. My visits become way more than scarce due to proximity, and I call, I hope, a bit more than I used to. And, today my MaMa Ellen celebrates her 85th birthday. And, just the same as when I was a child, I can still count on her for a kind word, a great story from my childhood, a bit of chocolate, a flying novena, complete faith that I can do no wrong, and a lot of love.
I love you Mama Ellen! Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday!




















