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My Thanksgiving Promise


When my youngest son told me I was going to be a grandmother, I had just turned 51.  I felt I was too young to be the oldest ranking person in the room, but I had no choice.  A baby was on the way and I was going to be a grandmother.
Memaw, Nana, Mimi, Oma – I tried them all on, and decided I wanted to be known as Grandma.  It was simple and descriptive.   
That little baby boy awakened in me a warm, strong, memory that I did not know I missed. He reminded me of a time when my own children were young, a time that slipped past too quickly because I was distracted with work and home and a difficult marriage.   
Being around this little boy allowed me to relive those moments; this time with a wisdom based on knowledge and appreciation.  
His little brother followed seven years later, and then we went through a baby boom. My daughter gifted me with two step-children and two more babies all within three years.  My youngest married a second time and I soon had another step-son and two more grandbabies.  Then last summer, my oldest had a precious baby girl. 
Ten beautiful grandbabies; all in a matter of fourteen years, and my husband’s two sons have not begun to add to their families yet, so there may be more.
People think I love my grandchildren more than my children.  No, that is not true. I love them each differently.  My children and my grandbabies are my legacy, my step into the future once I am gone.  
I have much to be grateful but my grandchildren are a blessing that fills my heart with joy.


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