Drop

I want to tell you about your Nannie in Virginia.

She is 90 years old and I fear that time has finally found out where she lays her head at night.

Your Nannie in Virginia was born in 1921. She was the oldest daughter of a Man that one of you shares a first name with. Albeit, altered a bit for gender. ;)

She had hair the color of a Raven's wing. Here eyes, well, they were the color of jade. Her family hailed from Ireland, and believe you me, she was the original Galway Girl.

Her life was not easy by any stretch of the imagination but it has been Her life and she's very proud to have lived it. Not that she would ever admit to that. The being proud part, I mean. She's far too shy for that.

Time, circumstance, and toil has bent her to such a degree that she has a hard time standing up. She scoffs at the cane that helps her from her armchair to the couch. She despises the walker that keeps her on the straight and narrow between rooms. That's just who She Is.

She married a good Man who loved her as long as the breath in him held out. What he left her with, though, was more than anyone could ask to afford. Still, she made a means with it. She made it work. I so wish you could have seen the pastures I used to know.

I want you to be proud from whence you came. We had no money to make us who we are. We had nothing but the stubborn resolve passed between white blood cells. Those blood cells may indeed have been born in your Nannie in Virginia's veins.

Whenever you see a single drop of dew in the early morning light, resting on a single blade of grass, fighting valiantly against a multitude of sunlight for its own survival...

Your Nannie probably put it there.