I woke up early on Sunday.
The house was quiet.
For a few seconds, I forgot where I was.
Then I saw the white curtains and the little kitchen table.
My new home.
I made coffee and stood by the window.
There were already two grain trucks waiting near the elevator.
One driver climbed down from his cab and stretched his arms.
I watched him for a moment.
Then I smiled.
It was becoming my morning routine.
I had just finished my toast when my telephone rang.
I nearly dropped my cup.
It was Michelle.
"Good morning, Mom."
Her voice sounded different.
Not cheerful exactly.
But softer.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
She asked whether I had plans for the afternoon.
I looked at the calendar.
Nothing was written there.
"No. Why?"
"Would it be all right if we brought the children over?"
I felt my eyes fill before I could answer.
"Of course."
She paused.
"Are you sure?"
I laughed.
"Michelle, they're my grandchildren."
"I know."
"Bring them."
She promised they would come after lunch.
I spent the next hour cleaning a house that was already clean.
I wiped the kitchen counter.
I straightened the cushions.
I checked whether there were enough cups.
Then I remembered that children didn't care whether the cushions were straight.
They cared whether Grandma had something good to eat.
I found a packet of cookies in the cupboard.
I put them on a plate.
At noon, I made another pot of coffee.
Then I sat on the porch swing.
I tried not to keep looking toward the road.
I failed.
At twelve-thirty, I heard a familiar vehicle.
Todd's pickup turned onto the street.
The children were inside.
Before Todd had completely stopped, I saw Sadie's face at the window.
She waved both hands.
I stood up.
The passenger door opened.
Michelle climbed out.
Then the children began getting out one by one.
Sadie ran toward me.
"Grandma!"
I bent down just in time.
She wrapped her arms around my neck.
I held her tightly.
"Hello, sweetheart."
"Your house is little!"
I laughed.
"Yes, it is."
She looked toward the front door.
"Can I see inside?"
"That's why you're here."
She took my hand and pulled me toward the entrance.
Michelle stood behind us, smiling.
Todd carried a small bag.
"We brought some things," he said.
I looked at the bag.
"What things?"
"Snacks for the children."
I nodded.
"That's thoughtful."
We went inside.
Sadie immediately noticed the drawing on the refrigerator.
"You kept it!"
"Of course I did."
She pointed at the yellow sun.
"I made that."
"I remember."
She looked at the room.
Then she noticed Dale's photograph on the cabinet.
"That's Grandpa."
I nodded.
"Yes, sweetheart."
"Is he in heaven?"
I swallowed.
"Yes."
She looked at the picture for a few seconds.
Then she went back to examining the kitchen.
Children had a way of moving between sadness and happiness without warning.
I wished adults could do that more often.
Michelle helped me put the snacks on the table.
Todd sat near the window.
The other children found places to sit.
For the first time in many days, my little kitchen sounded like a family home.
There were questions.
There was laughter.
Somebody dropped a spoon.
Sadie wanted to know whether the porch swing was safe.
I told her it was.
She immediately asked if she could sit on it.
After lunch, we went outside.
The children took turns swinging.
Michelle stood beside me.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for letting us come."
I looked at her.
"You don't have to thank me for visiting."
She nodded.
"I know."
Then she looked at the children.
"They're happy here."
"So am I."
She smiled.
I wanted to ask whether she had thought more about our conversation.
But I didn't.
It was Sunday.
I didn't want every visit to become a discussion about the past.
Instead, I asked about her work.
She told me about a difficult week.
I listened.
Sometimes she complained about the same things I used to complain about when she was young.
I almost laughed.
Nothing changed as much as people thought.
When it was time to leave, Sadie hugged me again.
"Can I come back?"
"Whenever your mother brings you."
She looked at Michelle.
"Can we come next Sunday?"
Michelle smiled.
"We'll see, sweetheart."
I didn't press her.
I watched the pickup disappear down the street.
Then I returned inside.
The house was quiet again.
But this time, I didn't feel quite so empty.
There were cookie crumbs on the table.
A small handprint on the front window.
And the refrigerator drawing had been moved slightly crooked.
I left it that way.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Michelle Started Visiting Without Asking for Anything, but One Afternoon She Asked Me a Question I Wasn’t Prepared to Answer
My Daughter Had a Price for Giving Her Widowed Mother a Place to Sleep, and I Had to Decide What My Years Were Worth
Part 9 of 20
