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Why do some people hate? There’s and old joke about loving hate and hating love but I think I know someone who really does hate everything including love. The truth is that some people enjoy being miserable as well as making everyone around them miserable. It makes no sense to me, but I know this is true. In my life, I knew older people to be nice, loving, kind people. They loved children and they loved people to love them. Maybe there were hateful people around and I just never met them. The older folks I knew were all very sweet and loving. Children and their needs and wants came before anything else. That's what grown ups were on this Earth for. My Grandma was the best. I don't recall one negative thing my Grandma ever said to me. I don't remember her ever getting on to me for any reason. I don't remember anything but feeling loved when I was with her. I could do no wrong in her eyes. There are at least 25 grandkids and every one of us thought we were the favorite, and I think we all were somehow. So much love to spread around, she would never run low. She and my Papa were always so happy to see us. She’s make special foods for us, homemade biscuits and chocolate gravy, fresh cornbread and milk. Simple things that just knowing she made them for us made them special. We would all take her “grandma” presents for Christmas and her birthday. When she died, there was a whole dresser full of the silly little towels and gowns we all bought her. She didn’t use her “special” stuff for everyday. She just appreciated them and saved them for a special time. It moved us all so much to see how well she had taken care of everything we had bought or made for her. No matter how simple, if her grandchildren took the time to make or pick something out for her, it was special. There were a lot of devastated children when she died.
I regret that my children don’t have these kinds of memories. My Mother died when my oldest was only 6 and before my youngest was born. My Auntie, her sister, stood in for her in most ways, but she’s gone now too. I feel that they’ve missed a lot. I hope that when I’m gone, my children and grandchildren will remember me as I remember my Grandma. I think they all know how much I love them and how very special they each are to me. I don’t want to be remembered in a negative, unhappy way.
I want them to tell stories about how I spoiled them and loved them to pieces. So far, I’ve done a pretty darn good job.