Grandma Polly

Today would have been my Grandma Polly’s 94th birthday.

I think she would have liked that it fell on Election Day. She was a Democrat, mostly because she like JFK and her maiden name was Kennedy, or at least that’s what I always thought—but we never really spent much time talking about politics.

Now all these years later, the conversations I remember with my grandma aren’t the so-called “big” ones. It’s the day I walked in the room, and she told me I took her breath away. It’s how proud she was of me for anything and everything I ever did. It’s how she would trap unsuspecting people at Wal-Mart and inform them that her grandchildren were twins. She always thought that was the most amazing thing and never, ever stopped telling people how my brother and I had surprised the family by being two babies instead of one.

What I remember now is how my grandma loved me. Unconditionally and faithfully. A love I didn’t have to earn or prove. She just loved me for who I was and who she knew I would become. She didn’t love me because I brought anything to the table or could do anything for her.

So today, I celebrate her life and thank her for giving me a tiny glimpse at what it means to be loved unconditionally, and in doing so, teaching me how the Father loves me.

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