Missing ingredients.

Last week we said goodbye to my husband's Papa. Oct. 2 will make three years since I last saw my sweet Mama Mary. As a child, I was fortunate enough to spend a lot of time with my grandparents and their siblings(my great aunts and uncles). As boring as it might seem for some kids and teens today, I absolutely LOVED listening to them reminisce of days gone by. It is one of my most favorite memories. The stories were so funny sometimes, but more than that, I just enjoyed that peacefulness of being surrounded by these sweet souls telling their life stories. So much better than any book or fairy tale I was ever read as a child. I have said goodbye to the majority of those people. My Papa Troy, Mama Mary, my Aunt Helen, Uncle Henry and Aunt Ethel, Aunt Edith, Aunt Eva, Aunt Doll, Uncle Larry, Aunt Cleo. I wonder if they even realized I was taking it all in? I wish I had wrote every story and recollection they shared down. I sometimes will remember a story I didn't even realize I had forgotten. They were special people to me and I never want to forget them or their stories.

While sitting at William's grandpa's house, I was once again surrounded by his grandmother, her siblings, and the sibling of his Papa's. I didn't realize just how much I missed those tales until we all sat there listening to them go back. I smiled and felt a familiar comfort. Leaving their house that night, a very troubling thought crossed my mind: We are missing ingredients.

The ingredients that made up my sweet grandparents, their siblings and, I found out that night, my hubby's grandparents as well. We joke about the "3 miles, up hill, in the snow" stories, the "I never had a problem deciding what to wear when I was a kid, I only had to pick from two things"stories and all the common stories we've all heard or joked about. The thing is, those are real. Those were really their stories. The picking cotton, wash tub bathing in front of the fire place, doing arithmetic by candle light, excited about getting fruit, and only fruit, for Christmas, walking to school where three to four grades were taught in the same room separated only by rows, warmed bricks wrapped in potato sacks under the covers to keep feet warm, dictionary was a subject, toys were foil boots on a cat, a rocking chair made by Pa, or a squeaky horse passed down from all 6 of your older siblings. We are missing ingredients.

There will NEVER be first hand stories like this again. I can't help but think that grandparents from here on out will not be as great as ours of this generation. What stories do they have that will compete. My mom will tell about what? That she played in the dirt outside instead of video games. I will tell my grand kids what? That I didn't have Internet until I was 11. Sure, we will have lived and learned, had our share of happy times, hard times, beautiful memories and maybe horrible tragedies as well. But what if the major ingredients are forever gone. Will Paisley ever sit in a room with her grandparents or with us and our siblings and be mesmerized by our stories. Will we, when we are older, have that same comforting presence about us? Will we be in our grand children's eyes, what our grandparents were in ours? Our parents are wonderful grandparents to Paisley. Love, time, and spoiling are the main components of what makes a grandparent I know...but I just wonder if the recipe will be missing something special, that little something extra.

I hope that our busy, sometimes cluttered, lives wont leave us missing those special ingredients. I hope it's just my special memories and overwhelming love that keep my grandparents on such a pedestal. I do hope we all have our own special sweet comfort to those that come after us<3 Our own special ingredient.