My grandson, John, almost eight, and his sister spent the night with us Saturday night. John is adept at conversation and commented to me that his mom has an app on her computer that “goes right to your blog! That blog sure has a lot of words on it, Grammy.”
I was pleased to know that my family checks out what I write occasionally and a bit ashamed at how long it’s been since I added any words to my friends out there in the blogosphere.
There’s not a whole lot about knee surgery that’s clever or uplifting, and pain and the drugs that manage it have kind of numbed my desire to do much but play solitaire or watch the disaster reel on the news. But now it’s tomorrow, and I’m back.
The day I got home from the hospital some friends were visiting when Walker got home from work. I was enthroned on my usual chair, dressed in street clothes, and looked pretty normal. When Walker realized I was here, he rushed in, hugged me passionately and commented, “You’re home! My song must have worked.”
I immediately knew this was Walkerese for something tender, so I questioned him about which song he might be referring to. I actually thought he had followed a pattern of turning to “Amazing Grace” for comfort in a troubled time, but his repertoire has expanded.
“You know, the one from ‘Annie’…”
Ah…I did know.
“Tomorrow?” I queried.
“Yep, I sang it last night and now you’re home…”Tomorrow, Tomorrow…I love you Tomorrow…” Tears misted both his and my eyes and those of our friends.
I love you tomorrow too, buddy!