Hello sweetheart, come sit with me. Let’s swing.

Do you remember that one moment?

The time when you remember every detail – the words in the conversation, the way it made you feel? To this day, there’s one stretch of time, maybe thirty seconds total, that still breaks my heart.

The pressure that mounted inside as I tried to sound “interesting” or “nonchalant” about the question I was asked…

I was walking out the back door of my grandma’s house, chatting with a friend. We were on our way to the park.

Me, an eleven-year-old girl who suddenly felt insecure with someone I had no reason to feel insecure around. A friend I’d spent so much time with. She knew my family. Her brothers knew mine. I knew hers. There was nothing to prove. Nothing to hide.

Still, I felt small. And I don’t know why.

She asked me a simple question. A question I answered.

From the moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back.
I still do.
Decades later.
I’m ashamed.

I don’t know why she asked it. But before I go further, I need you to know –
My grandma was one of the best.

She came to every Grandparents Day at school. She split her time evenly among the grandkids. Took us out to eat, just to spend time. Bought the “best” ice cream cups and popsicles, just to have them on hand. The cookie jar was always full. The door was always open.

“Hi sweetheart” was the first thing you were guaranteed to hear.
“I love you, be safe” was the last.

She always had eggs to decorate at Easter.
Asked for help with the tree at Christmas.
Was ready to go wherever, whenever, for any reason at all – if it meant time with us.

Then came the question.

“Do you like your grandma?”

It hurts.

I didn’t just like her. I loved her. Even now, she’s a cornerstone in my life.

But what did I say?

“Well, she’s not my favorite. But I guess I like her.”

The shame of it still sinks my heart.

My pride interfered with my appreciation.
My ego fought against my love, and it won.

From the moment I answered, I wished I hadn’t.
I hoped she didn’t hear me.
I hoped she didn’t believe those words.

I will never know.

That memory lives in me as one I would rewrite if I could.

She deserved better.
She deserved all the praise I could have given her in that moment.
She deserved the kind of answer that would have lit my face with the love she placed in my heart.
The kind of love that made the difference.

Sometimes I wonder, whose reputation are we trying to protect when pride speaks first?
Is it worth it, if love goes unheard?

I let a moment of pride speak louder than love.
I wish I hadn’t.

I love you. Be safe.
Take some flowers for your table.