The one with Pitter Patter Pit

I like to hear the rain come down.

I like to hear it hit the ground.

Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter,

Pitter Patter, Pit.

(The words may be incorrect, but in my head that’s how I hear her singing them.)

My Grandma Cook may have been nuttier than a jar of extra crunchy peanut butter, but I loved her for many reasons. She was musically talented, knew how to exercise humorously, made the best mashed potatoes, loved her husband unconditionally, took care of her family, and really knew how to pull loose teeth from her grandchildren’s heads. She was devoted to the things she cared about all the way to her 81^st birthday, the day she went to her home in the Sky, and that’s definitely commendable.

Speaking of birthdays- today would have been Grandma Cook’s 89^th birthday. I spent the day remembering her and the joy I experienced caring for her. I am blessed to have shared so many moments with my grandma while she was healthy, any maybe even more blessed by the moments we spent together in the end.

Some of the most significant experiences in my life so far are the times I took Arby’s roast beef sandwiches to my grandma when we were all too worn out to cook dinner, turning on her oxygen machine, sleeping next to her at night when she was lonely for my grandpa after he died, and holding her hand as she joined him when it was her turn.

Even though I miss my grandma a lot, I can find a lot of her in my mom. She’s definitely still around; in genes and memories. Happy day, Granny Grunt. I love you and I pray to always hear the sound of your music.

Ps. Happy birthday, yesterday, to Dharma. It’s a special time for birthdays.