I don’t remember much of my childhood. I know I was a happy kid. I know I was loved by everyone—especially you. Mom tells me the story of me a lot: how you convinced her to keep me when she found out she was pregnant. I guess I owe my life to you, huh? I visited you in Arizona once before I was even born. Mom has a picture of it—of her standing next to a gate (I think it’s a gate) with me inside her belly. You loved me before I was born before I was even me. You loved the idea of me before anyone else, and I feel your love every second of the day.
My Oma lives 31 hours away from me in Apache Junction, Arizona. It’s not easy to walk to Oma’s house for sleepovers and hearty breakfasts. I’ve never had a close relationship with her because she lives too far away. I don’t even remember much of our face-to-face encounters because they’re rare, but heaven knows I cherish them. She has visited us a few times throughout the years. She and Pawpaw Bob took me camping at King’s Mountain one year. I remember eating hotdogs and coloring in this little fashion coloring book. Then she visited when I was in 10th grade. We all went to the fish camp for dinner one night. When my nephew, Tanner, was born my senior year of high school, she visited again to meet him. That was the last time I saw her until she visited just two weekends ago.
Years pass between each visit. We maintain our relationship via phone because she’s not very tech savvy—you won’t find Oma updating her status on Facebook or posting selfies on Instagram. She lives in the desert (literally) with Pawpaw Bob and their furry, four-legged son, Benjamin Blue. There is a slight time difference between us; Charleston is three hours ahead. I scold myself constantly for not calling her enough, but my schedule is always hectic, and I never know exactly what she may be doing when I want to call. (OK…I can’t make excuses. I don’t call because I don’t take five minutes to sit down and do it. I have no excuse for my selfishness, and I feel guilty for not making more of an effort. Oma, if you’re reading, I pinky promise I’ll call more.)
Now, back to our visit two weekends ago: It. Was. Wonderful. Despite her health (unfortunately, she has been battling cancer), she seemed to be in such high spirits. She laughed at every memory, smiled at every poem I read to her and cried happy tears when she looked at every picture from years ago that my dad had developed from 10+ disposable cameras he found in storage. Now that I’m a bit older, Oma shared a few “scandalous” stories from her own teenage and young adult years. I introduced her to the world of Snapchat, and I never left her side for the short two days I was lucky enough to spend with her. I don’t want to say it aloud, but there’s a possibility that this visit was our very last. Like I said, she’s battling cancer. She isn’t one to talk about the status of her health because she doesn’t want people to worry about her, but I know what the sad truth is. My mom wants me to be prepared, just in case.
I don’t want this to end on a sad note. I don’t want this to end at all. I wish I could write more about all the adventures my Oma and I have been on together, but sadly, there are very few. Distance is a nuisance when it places itself between a grandmother and her granddaughter. No matter what the near future brings, and despite the 2,091.7 miles between us, I will hold her in my heart forever and always.
