I’ve been thinking about my grandma Wilma a lot lately. Her birthday was at the end of August, but she wasn’t here to celebrate it with us.
She went to sleep and stormed the Heavenly gates the day before Little Bit turned 9 last December.
Oh how she loved my boy!
She loved all her boys, grandkids, and great grandkids. And, she had a soft spot for my little miracle boy.
She knew all about our infertility struggles, my high risk pregnancy, and she just knew what a blessing he is.
Maybe it was because she raised six boys of her own, or because she was a school teacher, but I always felt like she saw a special light in my boy.
She used to get so tickled when we told her stories of what he was up to and the things he was saying.
I found myself really missing her yesterday when my little Superman insisted on wearing his costume to town. On a Tuesday. In September.
Grandma would’ve gotten a kick out of how he walked right into his jumping class.
His gracious coach not only let him keep his costume on, but she also let him look in the mirror and pretend he was flying.
She would’ve loved that after his class, we walked into the bank. The gals working “ooo-ed and ahhh-ed” over him and he was so proud.
I can just imagine the sparkle that would’ve been in her eyes if she would’ve seen his big ol’ smile when one of them handed him a Superman sticker.
At Walmart, as he drew a lot of quiet smiles from passing shoppers, I couldn’t help but think that grandma would’ve loved to see our little boy all dressed up while shopping on such an ordinary day.
I love the fact that grandma got to love my Little Bit until the very last day that he was 8 years old, and even though she didn’t get to see him be 9, I’m guessing she’d think he is simply super.