My mom’s name was supposed to be Deann Bethine was she was born. When she came into this world, my grandfather held her in his arms, looked her over and declared she looked more like a Debra Lynn than a Deann Bethine. My grandma accepted this change of events but was disappointed, as her baby girl would have been her namesake.
Fast-forward 19 (almost 20!) years to a similar hospital room. Just like last time, a little girl is born. When the birth certificate is signed, my grandma is overjoyed as she looks at the baby in her arms… named Deann Bethine.
Since before I can remember, my grandma and I have had a special bond. Perhaps it’s in our shared name. Perhaps it’s because I am the only daughter of her only daughter. Whatever it is, she has always been a huge part of my life. I have a scrapbook of letters written back and forth between us when, as a small child, I lived hundreds of miles away from her. Later, when we lived closer to her, I have memories of going to her house and watching her bake cinnamon rolls, learning how to quilt, watching her take notes in short-hand and getting ready for school dances. Because of her, I have songs and stories and skills to someday pass on to my own daughter.
My grandma came to visit me recently, as we are back to living hundreds of miles apart. We spent several days together, taking walks by the beach, hanging out with my friends, and sharing our hopes and secrets. It was perfect. I told her that if the opportunity ever arises, she will come live with me. Just as she has always been a huge part of my life, I will always be a part of hers.
