A Meeting with Peace

The woman, gracefully aged with a touch of silver streaking through her auburn hair, rose from sifting through patterns of toddler dresses to answer the door. She had been jotting seamstress notes in her faithful little black moleskin-lined notebook. The handy 4"x6" journal had become her favorite place to list dreams and goals of her new grandmother life. In remembrance, she etched the inherited name “Gram” on the cover. Her Gram had taken the time to teach her to sow, bake, dream, and curse - appropriately. This new Gram would do the same, now, in hopes of making life right on the tail end of her parenting years.

The doorbell rang a second time as she steadied her knees, dusted her pants, and checked her watch. The chocolate chip cookies lovingly made from scratch would be ready in a short minute.

A familiar scent of cologne swept in with the afternoon air caught on the hinging door. In front of her stood a tall man with dark receding hair and brown eyes that reflected her childhood memories. His embrace had once set her heart on fire; nervous energy would measure her veins. They seemed to always know when to check on each other throughout the years. It was as if when her heart ached, so did his. And vice versa. But he was a faithful man who had wed another. Eventually he found contentment with his bride, as a roommate, while finding peace within himself through bourbon and guys' nights.

When his wife unexpectedly passed away a few years before, he inherited her family trust. The gift of twenty grand provided enough to catalyst his retirement a decade earlier than planned.

The new grandmother had not heard from him since he settled his marital affairs, only staying in touch through rumors of bucket list vacations and his search for the perfect woodsy bourbon brew. Meanwhile, she journeyed through those same years guiding her young adult children and discovering a balance of peace and grace for herself.

The second generation Gram tucked a stray grey behind her ear, adjusted her glasses, and took in another breath before fully opening the door. With chocolates in one arm and roses in another, the man who stood before her whispered, “I have loved you all the days of my life”.

Decades flashed through her mind: babies crying, rejection letters left on nightstands, relocations from town to town following the next upgraded profession, scant money for food and barely any for gasoline. Her two blue eyed children had questions beyond her answers, “Where's dad? Why doesn't he love me?” Nights of sitting alone crying, hiding her broken heart after each new broken relationship left her in utter despair and depression. The hopes and dreams of shared living, a tenured home, and Betty Crocker family dinners shifted into long 12-hour workdays, additional part-time jobs, and after school daycare programs.

Attempts at a love shared led to a life alone. All-encompassing, those decades took all her best to raise her two beautiful girls and all of her being to see each day to its fullest. All of it alone. She had surrendered her dreams of co-parenting, picket fences, and two toothbrushes snuggling in a cup by the sink.

Thirty years later, finally and thankfully a grandmother, she sat with contentment alone without her previous consistent partner - despair.

During those young parenting years, despair had flowed and carved her bedrock heart creating a life of diligence and independence.

Silently, she stood there and embraced the gaze of her familiar friend from so long ago. The man with whom she once seemed spiritually linked. A man she once could have shared living room dances with. She blinked knowing their opportunity to truly share life had passed. The children were grown and she had finally created a peaceful life on her own. The bed was no longer too much alone. She had learned to know love through life. The satiated Gram no longer needed to share and lighten the load. Her chapter “Despair” had long ago closed. A new chapter of "Peace, Solitude and Contentment" had begun.

The oven timer buzzed, she nodded her head, took a step back - empty handed - and let the scent of warm cookie dough drift out as she closed the door. He walked over to the kitchen counter as she moved hot cookies to a single plate. She then poured them each a glass of milk.