I won’t have a mom and dad forever. Some days I take them for granted. But they’re not so young any more, and this year has been a reminder to honor lives lived into twilight.
They know our shortcomings and we know theirs. And we love each other anyway.
Turns out, they’re not in many photos, because grandparents came before the age of selfies or instant photos. Or instant anything. They were born in the age of patience, the time when a lifetime of hard work was the only ticket to whatever equality means now.
My parents are the hardest workers I know.
They’ve earned everything they have.
And they quietly share it when a friend has needs.
They have a lot to teach my generation.
And the one after me.
I’m so glad they are willing to do that, putting in the time, and effort, and love.
They lived quietly in front of me, and now continue in the background of my life.
They stay with the boys when I have to go for a hospital stay with Ben.
They quietly show up after a shopping trip with a bag of clothes, assuming (correctly) that the boys have shredded holes in every single pair of pants.
They come to ball games, theater productions, music recitals, and cheer loudly, no matter how mediocre the performance.
They find the best books.
And read them out loud.
They find time with each child, no matter how much the grandchildren multiply.
They always invite us on vacation, even if we don’t manage to come.
They still want homemade presents for Christmas.
They don’t forget birthdays.
They love unconditionally.
I’m so thankful my children have grandparents.