BEING FLODiE, BEING MiMi

Almost every week my job as a traveling physical therapist takes me to the small Texas Panhandle town of Memphis. Somehow, my car never fails to turn onto the street made of bricks and drive slowly past the house where my grandmother (who I named Flodie) once lived. I stare hard at the front door and vainly try to bring forth my Jedi mind powers. I mentally will Flodie to step across the threshold and onto the porch. I know it's a lot to ask, but I never quit hoping she will somehow find a way to transport back to earth and step directly into my line of vision. She wouldn't have to say anything...wouldn't even have to know I was near. I could be happy just to sit quietly in my car and watch as she stooped over to water the big clay pot filled with brightly colored geraniums. I would drink in the beauty of her hands as she gracefully held the faded green watering can...glory in the strength of her face as she raised her soft grey eyes to search the horizon for storm clouds. And my heart would sing in remembrance of all the expressions and gestures that made Flodie so special...memories that have blurred and faded with the passage of time. I would look at her now through different eyes, as I have somehow become a grandmother (MiMi), too. I would look at her with eyes that understand more fully the perfect love we shared. And I would whisper on the wind my hope...that Being Flodie settled into her soul and filled her heart to overflowing...just as much as it does Being MiMi.