I’m a seventeen year old granddaughter of an angel. Every time I hear my maternal grandmother’s voice on the phone, I’m reminded of how much I love her. We talk, crack normal jokes, live off our inside jokes that even my mom isn’t savvy with, and basically just listen to each other’s experiences of the day. We talk almost every day, and twice a day at that, and when the gap increases to two or three days, the phone goes all warm and tingly after I put it down following a two-hour long conversation with her. And the excitement I never fail to catch in her voice when she takes over the phone from my grandpa (who’s the awesomest grandpa ever) to talk to me just makes my friggin’ month.
My grandma is the most beautiful woman in this universe. She is the cutest, liveliest, most inspiring, most childlike and most mature, most loving, most huggable human being ever. I love that she was the first person to see me and hold me when I was born, after—of course—my mother. While my mom worked on finishing her PhD after my birth, my grandma spent the day with me, looking after me, talking to me, teaching me things. We bewildered an air hostess one day when she heard my grandma telling me an elaborate story. I was six months old or so at the time, and the poor girl was tricked into believing that I grasped every word of that tale my grandma was narrating to me.
She has the sweetest singing voice in the world. Her lullabies defeat their purpose because they make you want to stay awake just to listen to her. They calm you down like nothing and no one else can.
Other people praise their grandmoms saying that she never gets mad, never ceases to help, always backs you up, and umpteen other things. My grandma—well, if it wasn’t for her, I’d never be as independent as I am today. She believes that even God doesn’t need to help if I can help myself. Her love shines through when she leaves things up to me—it is a constant reminder of how much trust she’s put in me, and how strong she thinks I am, even when I don’t believe it. She gets mad sometimes, but if she didn’t, I’d be a lazy brat. So would my mom, I suspect. My grandma is a force to be reckoned with, and she is the light. She is my best friend and my guardian angel. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out she was God when I reached Heaven—under her influence, I’m pretty damn sure I will—because, hey, is she anything other than a God to me on earth already?