Most days I try not to dwell on the fact that I don’t know where our grandchildren are living. After they went back to Phoenix in August 2012, we had an address. I could look at their apartment on Google Earth and see that it was right across the street from the school where they were enrolled. It was shocking to me that I could find comfort on the internet, making me feel as though they weren’t 2,000 miles away.
The address we had also allowed for packages and cards or letters to be sent. I would fill boxes with random trinkets, little boxes of candy, school supplies, gift cards, what have you. I’d find things that I thought each child would like. The wrapped packages were sent with great care and shipped so I could track them; ultimately seeing that one of the children signed for it when it was delivered. I felt connected somehow, especially when the phone calls stopped.
The last package I sent was in July. Unbeknownst to us they had moved. The package was returned. I was devastated, again.
An eternal optimist, regularly accused of being a “glass half full” kind of person, I continued to post fun things to my grandson’s Facebook page. Fun videos or pictures, snapshots of me and his Grandpa, hoping that the posts let him see that we still think of him and his sisters every day! Today my patience paid off.