A Grandma’s Love Carries On

Until today, I never really thought about the fact that my favorite picture on the middle bookshelf in our great room included two grandmothers: my mother and myself.

The photograph captures one of the most perfect moments imaginable, as my daughter (the very one who quite adamantly stated as a teenager that she was never going to marry and was definitely never going to have children), gently introduced her baby to my wheelchair-bound mother in the memory ward of the nursing home.

My mother is cradling little Adler in her lap with the most beautifully lucid expression on her face—one of delight and love, disbelief and gratitude—as Becca supports the baby’s head just a bit so his searching eyes can connect with his great-grandmother’s in a hauntingly perfect moment of realization.

Their eyes say it all; the way pictures of babies and older generations always do because they represent both sides of eternity meeting and recognizing their fragile, perfect connection to immortality. “Well, here we are, you and I, and I’m so happy to meet you.”

Becca was so proud to present baby Adler to her grandmother, and she told me she had prayed for just one clear moment for my mom that morning. Her prayers were answered as my mother began naming every one of her 12 great-grandchildren in perfectly chronological order, ending with Adler James and tears from Becca and me.

As Adler learned to crawl and walk, he visited his great-grandmother often, especially loving pancake Saturdays that we shared together. Mom and he held so many private conversations in his baby language. He held a special place in his great-grandmother’s heart, and she loved riding through the halls of her nursing home with him in her lap, very proudly introducing him to everyone we passed, sometimes three or four times to the same person, on the same day. She couldn’t get enough of him, and I thoroughly agreed with her.

I am so very privileged to be the second grandmother in that beautiful portrait of infinity unfolding before our eyes. I’m the one standing over the three of them, leaning in to savor the perfect moment.

Becca gifted me the photo in a beautiful frame after my mom passed away. The printing on the picture frame says it so beautifully: A Part Of My Heart Has Wings.

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Articles by Vicki Bahr

Vicki Bahr

I'm a mother of four, grandmother of nine, wife of John for fifty four years, an incurable optimist, word lover, and story sharer. I've worked and played at many careers, from proofreader to preschool teacher, businesswoman to human interest newspaper columnist to medical records clerk. Each path has afforded me the opportunity to appreciate the warmth of humanity and to hopefully spread a lifetime of smiles, empathy, and God's inspiration along the way. My life continues to be one of delight. With experience comes understanding, with understanding comes peace.