her legacy.

 My grandmother passed away a week ago today. I wrote this two weeks ago, when my grandmother was still struggling to breathe from her room at the local Hospice House. My absence from the blog has been due to grief, to not quite being able to shake the cloud over my head, to a loss of words and, -- temporarily, I am sure -- to a lack of inspiration. I know my grandmother is celebrating in a place of beauty today, and I am reminded that the love she chose to show to others -- all kinds, all the time -- is my calling, too.

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I've written before about my grandmother and her love for pretty things.

As she lays in her hospice bed, covered in a hand-knitted purple afghan, surrounded by stuffed animals of different shapes and sizes, I am reminded of that part of her, the part of her that relishes in colors and fabrics, in things that feel good and look pretty. 

It is part of her legacy, and it has been passed on to me. 

I, too, love handmade things, love pretty clothes and the perfect shoe. I like the colors of the rainbow and different textures and fabrics. I love the lovely things just like my grandmother does. 

But my grandmother is special. Her legacy is that she does not just love the lovely things. In her wisdom and kindness, she has also chosen to love the unlovely. 

My grandmother makes bears for children who are broken and hurting and aching. She knits blankets for veterans torn apart by war. She welcomes old and young, rich and poor, married and divorced, single and waiting, black and white... She loves every single person that comes into her life, and -- this is important -- she loves them all the same. 

I know you're thinking that's impossible. But every indication my grandmother has ever given shows a woman who loves each and every person she comes in contact with. It doesn't matter your story or your past. She loves you -- all of you -- and she wants you to be a part of the family.

A couple of months ago, I sat next to my grandmother, showing her pictures of a recent trip Jordan and I had taken. As I scrolled through picture after picture, I reached photos of an event my younger cousin had participated in. I went through the pictures slowly, and when I found one  last picture of my beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed cousin, I whispered to Mama: "Isn't she just so pretty? Aren't those girls pretty?"

My grandmother looked at me, and her smile alone stopped me in my tracks. It was the biggest, happiest smile I'd seen from her in a long time.

"You're pretty," she said. "You are such a pretty, pretty girl." I looked at her, and I felt like a million bucks.  

My grandmother has this amazing way of making you feel like you are the most special person in the world, even if you're just one of her 17 grandchildren (and 20 great-grandchildren, if you're counting).

That's the legacy I want.

Yes, I want to love the lovely things. I want to have an eye for creativity and for beauty. But I have learned from my grandmother that it's the unlovely things that deserve and need my love. The unlovely people, the unlovely things?

They matter.

Everyone matters. Everyone deserves love, deserves to be shown and told love.

That's her legacy. I hope it's mine too.