The one smell I wish I could recreate  is my grandmother’s linen closest. It is a comforting smell. It was a “I feel safe and know I am loved” smell.  I was raised by two grandmothers since my mom was a single mom between three husbands. My biological dad was not in the picture until after I graduated high school. His mother was a huge part of my life. I spent summers with her and learned so much from her. In Vegas, she had the best grape vine crawling up one side of her clothes line. The best miniature peach and plum trees. I never went without pomegranate seeds with her spectacular tree. She also had a garden that rendered scrumptious salads. She would water her deep green grass twice a day with her hose. On her porch was the best swing in the world. Every birthday came with a barbie dressed in a princess style cake dress (this was prior to pre-molds), so watching her decorate cakes by hand was a privilege. She was the first to let me wash dishes with that resonating smell that haunts my memories to this day. Finally, she never preached but I turned to God many times based on a nightly ritual. Her Bible was on the nightstand, but every night I watched and/or listened to her read her bible. That bible laid on her stomach as she fell asleep. As a child, I didn’t know why but all my life I remember that and know that bible meant a lot to my grandmother which is what her legacy left its impression on me.

On the other side of the spectrum was my Catholic grandmother, she was a tough woman. It was hard to read if she even wanted you in the room. She was not the lovey type. As I look back, she showed how much she loved with her actions. She was terrified of water, but she would stand outside of gate watching us in the pool. We all ended up okay, but would she have sacrificed her fear to save us if needed is a resounding “yes” because why would she stand there for hours to let us just drown? She was a dishwasher, so her tips were in the form of coins. She never spent them on herself but collected them in containers. When we wanted junk we did not need she would let us take from her containers and never ask how much we took. For some reason, we could have taken it all and she would never have questioned, but we all respected those containers. Never a word about respecting, but I will never watch John Wayne movies the same ever. She would also be very upset to learn so many soap operas are going away!

Two very different women, but have influenced me to be the woman I am today. Both the inspiration to my main character, Helen. I took their spirits and created this fictional book based on true events of my life : Chapter 1 is an introduction to my grandmothers

Ch. 1 In the Eye

 The calling of her name roared in her ears deafening every part of her eardrums. The sound resounded throughout her body as she lay in bed with her hands clasped in an embrace of her beloved bible lying on her stomach. The constant flash of light so bright as if a blinding lightning storm occurring beneath her eyelids, but it was the thunderous crack that awakened her from her peaceful sleep.

Almost automatically she said, “What is it Lord?” sitting up in a daze as her hands shakily groped in the dark as her bible slid off her stomach and hit the floor.

Then with the ease of young woman, she almost hopped out of bed and crashed to the floor, her body feeling so heavy she was slammed to her knees. The sweat pouring from her brow like large droplets of blood as she clenched her knuckles so tight turning them white; her heart pounding so strongly that she couldn’t help but let out a gasping cry, “Dear God.”

 

In Helen’s mind, she could envision the outline of the little girl’s face, but emotionally the intense fear was overwhelming.

“Fear of what,” she says in a whisper as she placed her hand on the ground.

“How should I pray Lord? What is she in danger of?” All the questions go unanswered which frustrated her more because if she had a specific direction then she would have a specific prayer, but the Lord knew best. He knew to give her just enough to breath fire into her bones so she could pray like a young warrior. Her body felt young when she was praying.

Then all at once the room came back in focus, Helen felt every arthritic joint. No longer a young warrior, but every ounce of youthful energy reduced to her mind overcoming the pain go just stand without shaking. It took all her strength and a deep breath to take a step. She glanced at the clock and realized she had been on the floor praying for over three hours. She needed something for her headache and the pain in her back. It took a while to get her bearingn, but once she was able to focus she leaned over to pick up her bible and gave it a hug as she laid it back in its place on her pillow. It never left that spot unless she was reading in the kitchen or on the porch.

“Oh Sweetheart I hope you are okay.” Helen whispered to herself as she tried to remember anything about the outline of the little girl’s face.  A great sadness seemed to overtake her emotions and a wish she could take the little girl’s fear away.

In the kitchen she turned on the light and walked over to her dark oak cabinets to pick out her favorite tea cup. It was her after-prayer tea cup. It had a picture of an angel on it with a halo and a quote that read “you are an angel.”

The cup was given to her just before her retirement. As a nurse, she saw things she wished she could forget, but this cup was a reminder of her gift. She had worked her whole career in the cancer unit of a children’s hospital. One of her favorite kids wrote letters each day to inspire others. Kids in the ward would be all smiles to find a letter under a pillow. He was such a special young boy but the cancer overtook his body.  His mother had given her the cup right after her son’s funeral along with a huge hug as each kid found a special goodbye letter from him which had been written by the beloved nurse.

“You are our angel,” she tried to utter without her lips quivering; handing the brightly packaged gift to Helen.

“I am,” was all Helen could stammer before the tears fell heavy down her cheek.

“You have no idea how comforting you are. You have such a special gift.” The mother responded with a crooked smile and large soft brown eyes. Here facial expression brightened as she said, “I know where my son is and I will see him again, so let’s not cry today and open your present.” She then grabbed a tissue to blow her nose and gave a little push on Helen’s arm.

Helen daintily pulled on the red ribbon. Carefully she put her finger under the tape worrying she would rip the contrasting bright blue paper. Underneath the paper held a small white box. Inside the box was a colorful cup with the words “you are our angel” centered in the middle. Above the words were different drawings.  What brought the most tears was hearing the cup was decorated by the kids in the ward she worked in for so many years.

“Thank you,” was all Helen could say as she held her cup to her heart and glanced around the room at a sea of happy eyes. It never seemed to amaze her how kids going through so much could brighten a room with laughter, love, and the hope of healing.

“We loved your tea, so continue to make us huge batches, but when you are at home we wanted to make sure you take us with you,” one of the older patients chimed in with a warm embrace.

With each hug, smile, and thank you; Helen was spinning with emotion of knowing it was time to retire, but not wanting to retire all at once. She knew she would continue to volunteer, but not being there twelve to fourteen hours was a big difference in her life.

Every time Helen prayed like a warrior she drank from that cup as a reminder that she had a gift that God gave her and even after she retired God still used her on a daily basis.

All of ninety pounds and eighty-six years old, Helen was a fire-cracker of a woman. She lost two husbands in two wars. She raised six kids on her own as a nurse where she cared for terminally ill patients. Losing little ones was difficult, but she could not leave them or the parents, so she prayed a lot. She spent many a nights asking God for answers and explaining to him that she did not understand why little ones had to suffer?

As God would have it, Helen could not distinguish who needed her parayer so she waited on him to guide her fervent prayers. Her gift had almost driven her crazy since the more she gave of herself God allowed her to feel the emotional turmoil of the person as if she was in the shoes of that individual. It took time, but as she saw the rewards of her gift; she embraced it with a passion daily. There was nothing that would come between her, prayer, and the one she was praying for.