This is my mother’s mom, June. She was a great lady and we were all very close to her until she died in 2002. We used to visit her in the summer and she would pick us up from the airport and shuttle us down to BYU for a sports or music camp. Sometimes she would spend Christmas with us and in the morning she always wore a housecoat with a plastic curler above each ear. She would make us eggs and like a whole loaf of toast with butter from a tub. She was classy and refined and even hosted a program on the radio in the 1940’s. She had the most contagious giggle.
I have no doubt that Grandma June is tending to Maxwell for me until I can get there. My boy and her boys. I never talked to her in depth about losing her children, and now I wish I could call her up and have a good long talk. We are part of the same club, she and I. Of all the women I know, she is special to me and it brings such comfort to know that she is on the other side with Max. Sometimes I look for Max in the world around me, and sometimes his little messages come in my dreams. Tender mercies.
Three months have come and gone, and not a day goes by that tears are not shed missing that baby of mine.