All in Good Time

All in Good Time

From Chicken Soup for the Grandparent's Soul

All in Good Time

Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences; all events are blessings given to us to learn from.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

The crunch of snow, as our son-in-law’s truck pulled to a stop in front of our home, was quickly followed by pounding on the door.

“Hi, Grandma,” our two grandchildren chorused, falling into the house, as I opened the door.

Bradie, seven, hugged and kissed me. “I love you so much, Grandma,” he said. “I’m glad we’re staying here tonight.” My heart swelled with love for him.

Shondie pushed past us. “Where’s Grandpa?” she shouted, darting up the stairs as fast as her four-year-old legs could carry her. She catapulted into her grandpa’s outstretched arms, a stream of animated chatter ensuing as she showed him her new dolly.

Will she ever feel that way about me? I wondered. I longed for a special relationship with her, like I’d had with Bradie. It was wonderful that she loved her grandpa so much, but part of me felt a little hurt, and yes, a little jealous.

“Don’t be silly,” my husband would say when I voiced my concerns. “She’ll come around. All in good time.”

After a busy time of reading stories, playing games and making a craft, Bradie asked if they could watch the movie they’d brought with them.

“Sit here, Grandma,” he said, patting the floor. With a smile, I flopped on my stomach next to him, that wonderful feeling of love rushing through me like a beautiful melody.

“Do you want to sit with us, Shondie?” I asked, patting the floor beside me.

“I’ll sit with Grandpa,” she said, clambering into his lap as he put down the magazine he was reading.

I sighed. Was I being foolish to feel rejected?

Bradie chattered on and on, trying to explain which Pokémon was which and how each evolved. But before the movie was finished he’d lost interest.

“Tickle time,” he shouted, jumping onto my back and tickling my sides. “You don’t like being tickled, do you Grandma?”

“Neither do you.” I bucked him off and began tickling him.

“No, no,” he squealed. “Don’t. I’ll get you for that.” Wiggling away from me, he made a dive for my bare feet.

Grabbing him, I held him down, kissing him. “You’re my favorite boy,” I cooed. “My favorite boy.”

“Oh, no,” he choked, “girl kisses. Yuck.” He wiped his face with his sleeve and escaped to the couch.

I lay on the floor laughing as Shondie slipped from her grandpa’s lap and dropped onto the carpet beside me. “Tickle time, Grandma,” she said.

With a laugh, I began tickling her. She giggled and squirmed. “Say it, Grandma,” she said. “Say what you said to Bradie.”

“You’re my favorite boy,” I said.

“No, Grandma,” she chastised me. “I’m a girl. Silly.” Her arms went around my neck and she kissed me.

“You’re my favorite girl,” I told her, my throat suddenly thick.

She wiggled away from me and climbed back onto her grandpa’s knee. With a cherubic smile she laid her cheek against his chest. “And I’m your favorite girl, too, aren’t I, Grandpa?” she asked.

“Yes, you are,” he told her. “And you’re Grandma’s favorite girl, too.”

Then he flashed a knowing smile at me as I wiped happy dampness from my eyes.

Chris Mikalson

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