She'd curl me up on her couch with a fluffy pillow, my favorite blanket, my favorite t.v. show, and a kitchen full of my favorite foods just waiting for me to ask for something, anything. How did she have my favorite foods when she didn't even know that I was coming over sick until that morning? Somehow, she always managed to stock each of her grandkids favorites so an impromptu visitor was never disappointed with her refrigerator or pantry. Even for my kids, even when she couldn't drive and had trouble getting to the grocery store, a visit never was met with disappointment.
And no request was too big or too small. I was there for her to take care of me, and taking care of me was something she did better than almost anyone else I've known. And she did it without making me once feel as if I was putting her out or as if she was doing me a favor. Taking care of me was just a natural extension of her love, and to her as much a needed part of her existence as breathing.
As I got older and was able to take care of myself, getting sick didn't necessarily mean a stay on grandma's couch. But then, when I was a freshman in college, I came down with mono. And I got to spend the week on my grandma's couch. I don't remember much of it. I know that she nurtured and nursed me and that I mostly slept. When I was awake, she fed me to my heart's content. And we talked and talked. My grandma kept more of a college student's hours than a grandmother's, so we had a grand time and leaving when she healed me was harder than I ever imagined it could be.
If given the choice, I'd pick sick on her couch over healthy on anyone else's.
Madonna Evelyn KirbyDecember 18, 1923 - April 9, 2008