September 8: A Day for Grandmas and Grandpas

One of the biggest sources of love in my life comes from my family, so their kind natures and supportive demeanors are featured in many of my stories. But one set of people I haven’t truly mentioned a lot are my maternal grandparents, Skip and Edie.


This year, I wanted to write a little poem for the two of them about all the ways they manage to say “I love you” without using those words. Enjoy!


A Sunday Kind of Love

Being your granddaughter means that life is full of “I love you”s 

And little love-filled moments that sometimes go without saying.


It comes when I get the somewhat disapproving “Grandma” look which

I know only means you want me to be careful and protect myself like you have for so long.


It comes when the two of you read my stories 

Because I look forward to sharing my life with you, even when I’m not always there.


It comes with Grandpa’s involvement in the church

As you set an example for the faith you have in God and the faith you put in me.


It comes when Grandma serves as my personal seamstress,

Weaving the fabric of our family together with each stitch.


It is how the two of you embark on road trips to get me from school,

The destination being to collect your granddaughter you love so.


It is seeing how both of you commit to loving one another

That gives me an example to strive for in my own life.


But amidst all those other love-filled moments, 

The time and place I feel the most love is

Sunday night dinners at your house.


Sunday afternoon rolls around; 

We all load into the car and head to your place.

Grandma swings open the door.

She greets us all with a “Hello” that feels like sunshine.

We kick off our shoes.

Maybe we grab a piece of candy from the always-stocked dish;

Maybe we don’t.

There’s always dessert anyway.


We walk into the kitchen to see Grandpa, 

Whisking away in as many pans as there are dinner guests.

The aromas waft through the whole house as we find our own hideaways.

For those in the kitchen, there’s always some spread of cheese and crackers.

We talk about our weeks, the neighborhood.


General chit-chat and an occasional glass of Merlot accompanies the cooking sounds.

When dinner is ready, Grandma bellows “dinner is ready” 

So that everyone can come join the feast.

We all shuffle in line to grab a plate and fill it to the brim.

We indulge in shows on The Food Network or HGTV while we eat

And fill the commercial breaks with laughter.


When we have settled from our dinners, we continue our TV time

Until someone’s sweet tooth (usually mine) inquires about dessert.

Dished out by Mom and Grandma, 

We are served our sweets in our respective hideaways.


As Sundays draw to a close, 

We say our farewells to Grandma and Grandpa.

We try to score some leftovers, if there are any, 

And thank them for another meal.


Everyone leaves the house with a full belly and a full heart from

The food and the company we shared together.

We walk to our cars and drive home, 

Already anticipating the tradition’s repeat for next week.


And that’s the best kind of feeling there is with them:

A Sunday kind of love.


For everyone who has or has had special grandparents in their life, take this day to remember and appreciate all they do for us. And after reading this poem, I hope everyone can find an example of a Sunday kind of love within their own lives.