I took my granddaughter to a resort pool for her sixth birthday, hoping to give her one happy day after the hardest year of our lives. Then a stranger looked at me in my swimsuit and asked if I was not ashamed to be seen at my age. I wanted to leave, but Amelia had another idea.
A year after my daughter and her husband died in a car accident, I was still getting used to saying things I never expected to say at sixty-five.
“Finish your breakfast.”
After the accident, I took custody of my granddaughter, Amelia.
“Where are your shoes?”
“Brush your teeth again.”
After the accident, I took custody of my granddaughter, Amelia. She was five then. I became not just her grandmother, but the person packing her lunches, signing her school forms, and sitting at the edge of her bed when grief woke her up in the dark.
So when Amelia’s sixth birthday came around, I wanted to give her something bright.
Money was tight. My pension was not enough, so I took extra shifts at the grocery store. I saved where I could and said no to myself more than I said no to her.
So when Amelia’s sixth birthday came around, I wanted to give her something bright.
“Do you want a party?” I asked. “Cake? Balloons? Your friends from school?”
“Grandma, I just want one day with you.”
She shook her head.
“Grandma, I just want one day with you.”
“Just me?”
She smiled. “Just us. Doing something fun.”
I had almost talked myself out of booking the resort.
So I booked two lounge chairs at a resort pool just outside the city. It was more than I would normally spend, but I had saved for it, and I wanted her to have one day that felt easy.
I had almost talked myself out of booking the resort. It felt indulgent, even reckless, after a year of counting every dollar. But Amelia had never asked for much.
I wanted one day that did not smell like bleach, cash registers, and worry.
She wore hand-me-down shoes without complaining, thanked me for simple dinners, and still called grocery-store carnations “fancy flowers” when I brought them home.
I wanted one day that wasn’t filled with bleach, cash registers, and worry.
One day where she could feel like other little girls whose biggest problem was choosing between cake and ice cream.
So I paid for the chairs, packed our bag, and promised myself I would not spend the whole day feeling guilty.
I ordered simple blue suits with white trim.
Then Amelia asked, “Can we get matching swimsuits?”
I laughed. “Matching swimsuits?”
“So we look like one team.”
That got me.
The morning of her birthday, she helped me pack towels, sunscreen, and two juice boxes she called “emergency juice.”
I ordered simple blue suits with white trim. Hers had a little ruffle at the shoulders. Mine was plain and full-coverage. When they arrived, Amelia held them up and said, “Perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” I asked.
“So people know we’re a team.”
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