Bob and I had only been dating a few weeks when he gave me a paperback copy of A Walk to Remember. My favorite part of the book was Landon loving Jamie so much that he wanted to fulfill her bucket list of wishes. He took her to stand on the state line and placed her feet on both sides. Her wish? She wanted to be in two places at once. Since that moment, I have wondered why Jamie so badly wanted this. I even took this picture at the Hoover Dam last June. Just as Jamie stood on either side of two state lines, I stood in the middle of the dam (sweating profusely) with one foot in Nevada and one foot in Arizona. I immediately thought of this scene in the book and laughed. I still didn’t quite get it. That changed on February 11th. I discovered my own reason for wanting to be in two places at once. His name is Sam, and he is my first grandchild. My friends talked incessantly about how incredible it is to be a grandparent. That there’s nothing like it. That it is the best club to join. That I’m going to love every moment. When Elise and Matt handed me Sam, it was the lightest feeling of joy I have ever been blessed to experience. Grandparents all around the world acknowledge this. My heart grew with pride, doubled with laughter and silly talk, and I have this crazy desire to show every single person I meet a picture of him! All of that is true and more. I am unapologetic as I compulsively share my wonder over this amazing thing. I cannot imagine what it is like to have more than one grandchild. In preparation for becoming a grandmama, I asked my youngest students at school to train me. Oh my, they were excited to teach me, so we had a French lesson about family. These kids are experts in their field with a vast array of knowledge and opinions. They really understand what makes for a good grandparent- grandchild relationship. I was mesmerized by their enthusiasm. They said I must be kind, nice, and ready to smile and laugh. -I should be ready to play, to sing, to dance, and to give lots of kisses. -I might could go on walks and picnics, help pick out clothes, tie shoes, and clean the bathrooms. -I need toys of course, and soft beds, and lots of books and lots of music. -I will protect him, teach him French and Spanish, and build forts inside and out. - I must cook for him- cereal, yogurt, cookies, and pizza and always have plenty of cold chocolate milk in the frig. -I must give him all my love- always with the biggest hugs. I took all this preparation with me to Orlando to meet Sam. Every word was of advice was perfect. It all came true. On the day, I was preparing to come home, I realized that throughout all my grandmama training, I forgot to ask what I realize is the essential question. How do I say goodbye? No one warned me what it would feel like to leave him. All the grandparents with out-of-town grandkids knew what was coming and couldn’t prepare me for it- that moment I had to kiss Sam goodbye, hand him back to his mom and dad, and say see you soon. Part of me understands that I must get comfortable with this uncomfortable longing as quickly as possible, put my grandmama panties on, and focus on the joy. Yet, my new grandmama heart aches to be close enough to touch, hold, smell, and sing to Sam whenever I want. When I returned to school, I explained this dilemma to my students. I asked how they did it- how they parted ways with their people. They laughed but then got down to business. They explained that all I need is a plan- one that includes a special goodbye song, a hug and kiss. They reminded me that I could never cry and make my grandchild sad. I could not sneak away while he slept. That is forbidden! My favorite suggestion came from the kid who approached me with a conspiratorial whisper. He suggested I should just put my grandson in the car and take him with me because that is what the best grandparents do! Oh, these students of mine made everything all better because I realize I can do what I do best. I will plan trip after trip back down the sweetest road that exists… the road to my grandchild’s house. PS. They gave me this grandchild and it seems that are now asking me to share him nicely with other grandparents. It is a good thing that I love them too!
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We were in a 2-wheel drive family SUV. Parson Branch Road didn’t allow us to turn around. We plodded deeper into this dense forest. I was alarmed that sunlight could not penetrate the canopy. JoAnna and I had chosen an unfamiliar trail and fear of this unknown quickly filled our thoughts.
We supported our decision to take this trail, but we had no idea how the beautiful park crowded with hundreds of people could suddenly become so isolated, quiet, and devoid of meadow life. Our beautiful fall afternoon immediately transformed as we crossed that bridge, and we realized there was no turning back. What if we met another vehicle or came upon a fallen tree or encountered car trouble? We were headed into the unknown as earlier pioneers did. I had no idea what waited ahead or if we would make it out of the forest before the park gate closed at the end. Our arrogance and confidence turned to fear and concern for ourselves and young daughter. As it became darker, we only had headlights to allow us to navigate the crooked unkept back mountain trail. I felt a flood of emotional relief as we emerged on the other side. This end was just as dramatic as the entrance. We nearly cried because our joy was so great at seeing a paved mountain road. It was as if JoAnna and I entered a time transfer and exited just as dramatically. This adventure left an impressionable memory and awareness of just how fortunate we were to survive this nice afternoon drive. This was definitely our greatest and scariest adventure together. They say others travel this trail for fun. As the afternoon October sun dropped low across Cades Cove, my husband Bob discovered a shortcut – a primitive gravel road that exited onto a curvy Tennessee highway. I had spent the day reading hilarious quotes from A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. We figured if this guy could tackle the Appalachian Trail, we could at least drive our SUV through parts of it with our three-year-old child Ella. We were arrogant tourists, inspired with an inflated sense of possibility. As our beautiful day came to an end, Parson Branch loomed before us, only wide enough for one car. We estimated that /this shortcut could save us three hours as we made our way towards Ellijay. Bob and I debated questionable merits of reaching the end of the trail before we were locked in the park for the evening. How long can it really take? Bob asked. This trail sign says eight miles in an hour, but I’m thinking I can make it in forty minutes. While not paved, this road did show up on our national park map as a serviced path open to public cars. When GPS verified its existence, off we drove. There was no sunlight, cell service, or opportunity to turn around as we entered this densely covered forest. Bob hugged his side of the trail while I peered over the opposite edge looking for bears. We heard soft crunching of leaves and eerie creaks of small wooden bridges under our tires. As we followed a winding creek, neither of us spoke. Ella slept. Bob faithfully pushed forward, persevering while I prayed over our insane decision. We whooped with joy when our headlights panned across an opened park gate after ninety minutes of off-road adventure. We still didn’t know which way to turn onto the highway. In honor of this success that occurred despite our stupidity, we now refer to any consideration of a new adventure as a Parson Branch kind of decision. This is my take on it. Bob has a few more things to say about it. |
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JoAnna Arnold
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