HappyPlatypus's Journal

In what turned out to be the final five years of my Grandma's life, I made it a point to talk to her by phone at least five days a week. Often it wasn't more than 10 or 15 minutes, and frequently the conversations couldn't be described as scintillating, but in retrospect, I think they were what human relationships were all about.

And God knows I'm glad, on so many levels, I made the time for those calls, even when I thought I was busy or stressed by life and even when I didn't understand why Grandma was so persistent in telling me in such detail what she had for lunch that day or how green the grass looked outside her window. These were details that, at the time, I didn't really care about, but that today, at times like now, I miss so much that tears are welling as I type this.

I eat breakfast every day with a group of men at a McDonald's near my house. My dietician has approved an Egg McMuffin and/or a Fruit and Yogurt Parfait for breakfast, and me being me, I eat one of each, and two parfaits if life is particularly stressful that day, which is pretty much all the time now.

I turn 40 this year (although given what I've gone through in the past year -- diagnosis of diabetes and M.S., then cancer treatment for my dad and a disabling back injury for my wife that's led to her being off work and a bankruptcy, it feels like I'm 40 going on 400), but the men I eat breakfast with are all older, ranging from 55 to probably 90. We're of different races and socioeconomic backgrounds and simply struck up a friendship over the past two years because we all happened to eat in the same restaurant at the same time every day.

I enjoy their company and their stories of the "olden days," and they crack me up, because they're constantly regaling me of how their church suppers feed them up right for under $1 or how they save money on senior specials at restaurants.

Listening to the men talk of food reminds me of Grandma and reminds me of relationships and food and guilt. Seriously, is it possible to have a relationship or food without guilt? Grandma was the one person I had a guilt-free relationship with.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this today. I'm off work for the 4th of July, though I don't feel celebratory for a myriad of political and personal reasons. But I'm happy to be home, because I can spend time with my animals, all of whom are rescues. Right now, I'm happy because there's a furry purring orange pile of fur and love in my lap known as Kiwi.

The furry purring pile of fur is Kiwi. Not my lap. Just so we're clear on that.

:)

But I feel guilty, because when I rescued all the cats and dogs, I worked from home. Now I don't, and I worry they miss their daddy. I worry that they pick up on the stress I feel, and that I'm not making their lives as pleasant as they deserve. Logically, I know that's my OCD playing off my insecurities, but still, some days the guilt gnaws at me like a rabid hound.

My one regret when it comes to my grandma is that I never gave her great grandchildren. I'll never spawn, which I don't particularly regret in and of itself, but I know she would have liked to have had great grandchildren. But she loved her great grandkitties, and she asked each day about each and every one by name.

Oh, what we could do with this world if we could harness the power of a grandparent's love, you know?