How often have you taken your grandparents for granted? I know I’ve been guilty of it–of assuming they’ll always be there…
Since I’ve become an adult (blech), I’ve developed a new, deep appreciation for my grandparents. One of my very favorite things about our yearly visits to England is sitting down with my grandparents over glasses of wine–beer for my grandad–and listening to their stories. Stories about the beginning of their courtship when they were 14 and 15, the cycling trips they used to take around England in the 40s and 50s, my grandma’s days as a nurse, and my granddad’s rise from army private to the co-owner of a successful engineering firm. I’ve come to learn just how generous and kind my granddad is and how wise and funny my grandmother is.
my grandparents on their wedding day in 1952 (forgive the iPhone picture with the weird reflection of my arm)
My very favorite stories though, are the ones about their experiences in London during WWII. Until this most recent visit, I had no idea that my granddad was nearly killed by a German doodlebug–twice. My grandma’s story about ruining her new, pale blue coat by lying down on a dirty London street to shield herself from a bomb and both of my grandparents’ stories about witnessing the pain and grief of their neighbors, of watching women dig through rubble with their bare hands to search for their children, made the terror of living through the London blitz tangibly real to me.
Granddad, going through a box of old family photos and letters.
I can’t believe I didn’t seek out their wisdom, life advice, and their stories years ago.
