Sitting on the back porch.

I miss sitting on the back porch. My Great Grandma Henson and I would always sit on the back porch after dinner. She would smoke a cigarette and I would sit with her enjoying the weather and watching the cars go past the mall parking lot directly ahead.

We would sit on the back porch and talk and bridge the almost eighty years that separated us.

I miss Grandma Henson. She was a woman whose wisdom I didn’t have the capacity to appreciate at my young age, and whose wisdom I desperately seek.

How do you go on for eighty years and find the strength of convictions to become the pillar bridging the rent in a family?

Where does the unmatched energy and grace come from when you’re matching the unbridled energy of a seven year old?

Where do you find the strength to outlive your husband and son, yet still mow your own lawn at the age of 75?

I miss sitting on the back porch. I miss my grandmother.