Opinion
 

Cherish loved ones while you can

By Stephanie Davis

The "clunk, slide, clunk, slide" of her shoes is now more annoying than ever. It is 8 a.m., and I guess I should be up anyway. I need a few minutes to adjust. My eyes are filled with slumber's crispy crumbs. Man, why doesn't she wear the animal slippers we bought her for Christmas?

Ever since I could remember, she was my hero. She taught me how to write when I was 3. She inspired me to be perfect and to always move forward. When I stood in front of my fifth-grade class and gave "The Person I Admire Most" paper, she was the subject.

Now that I have grown up, I see a different side of her: the side that blocked out love. The side that built up fear and hides hurt behind a brick wall to avoid showing her feelings. Funny how I didn't realize it before. She never was the type of grandmother who pinched your cheeks or baked you chocolate chip cookies. Instead, she'd give you money or buy you something, sometimes a great tradeoff for the cheek-pinching.

I can remember when she was my best friend and being around her was pleasant. It was the long drives to San Angelo from Houston. By the time we made it to Brady, the sun would be setting and she would look over and say, "We don't have far now. We can slow up a little bit." Tin Lizzie, our big 1988 Oldsmobile, cruised through the downtown streets like a parade float. No big skyscrapers -- just small brick buildings with lightposts in front. No big billboards with flashing lights -- just mannequins in the windows and small, wooden homemade signs.

Every summer, I looked forward to being in our own little parade, just me and my grandma. Simple things were special. It all seemed big to me when I was 5.

It was the light in her eyes and the gleam in her smile that made her admirable. Although she was in her 60s, she was as feisty as a teenybopper. She stood proudly and spoke properly, as if she were still teaching elementary school. All this was bottled up inside of a 5-foot-tall, 100-pound woman. No wonder she had the ability to strike with the whip of her tongue.

Finally, we'd make it to the driveway. She'd push her mail out of the way and head to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I'd make my way through the house to turn on the television or grab a book from her old teaching days' stash.

The "clunk-slide" of her shoes annoys me more than ever. It's 8 a.m. Well, I guess I should be up anyway. I walk into the living room, expecting us to pass each other silently, but I don't see her there. This morning, she died.

Never be afraid to say "I apologize." Today, resolve grudges. Hug someone and say "I love you." Always let good things surpass the bad things. They might not be there tomorrow.

Davis, a columnist for The Daily Cougar, 
can be reached at heavensangel_1_2000@yahoo.com.