Kit: Key to Happiness by Keystone Scraps
Template: Bumbershoots & Puddle Makers by LissyKay Designs
Font: Ignite the Light
Journaling: There have been a select few individuals throughout my life who have inspired a higher measure of deference and loyalty from me; that I have valued above others for various reasons. But there is only one to whom I would give the title of ‘hero.’
I am hesitant to commit to paper my explanation for why this woman deserves recognition as a hero. Not because of a lack of examples describing her acts of heroism, but because words fail to adequately portray her sacrifices, her compassion and courage. Of course, that isn’t going to stop me from trying.
Let me introduce you to Ada Wells, my grandmother. So, what did she do to earn such high esteem, you ask? That’s easy. She raised me. From the moment she first saw my face when I was 3 years of age until she passed from this life into the next shortly after my 12th birthday she was there protecting me. Loving me. Comforting me. Teaching me about forgiveness and how to look outside of myself to the needs of others. That may not sound like something that would earn one hero status, but in this case, it was more than enough. The first time she saw me she was 83 years young and had just had the cataracts removed that had stolen her sight before I was born. From that day forward, she stood alone against the monsters in the closet while teaching me the power of love and compassion. She withstood the vicious verbal attacks (and sometimes physical) from my mother because she wouldn’t back down when it came to my protection.
I remember waking in the middle of the night to find myself curled up in a ball at the foot of the bed buried under the covers. It was her voice I heard soothing me; reaching into the nightmares to pull me back. She couldn’t touch me until I became aware of my surroundings because I would lash out and fight to protect myself. Once she knew she had me back she would help me to the top of the bed where she could hold me, rocking me gently while she prayed with me and whispered into the night that everything would be okay.
My grandmother wasn’t always able to protect me. My mother could be violent and my father was a pedophile. When he confessed to my mother (just before my grandmother’s cataract surgery) the terrible urges he was having her response was, “She’s yours, do whatever you want.” And he did. For the next nine years. No. She wasn’t always able to protect me, but without her courage and dedication I don’t believe I would be here now to fumble through my explanation of why she is…
MY HERO
