08-16-2001 - 10:40 p.m.
Ten years ago today, my family celebrated my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary.
My mother started planning months in advance and wrote to all their friends and coworkers over the years to compile a book of memories for them - pages of handwritten stories from their lives. She made dinner reservations at one of the fancy restaurants in Richmond and threw the best evening our conservative Southern Baptists roots would allow. I only briefly hogged the spotlight in announcing my engagement to a boy I met in college, who was trying his best to impress my grandmother.
Today was much more subdued. My sister and I, absent, sent flowers. My mother and father spent the day with my grandmother and took her to the nursing home to visit Granddaddy. Many of the people who contributed to their book a decade ago are dead or have drifted into their own shadows of age. This anniversary was spent on the brink of twilight.
It's wrenching to realize that you've switched places in the generational lineup. My grandparents were relatively young when I was born - in their 50s. I still think of them with color in their hair - my grandfather with his Ed McMahon laugh and my grandmother's painted fingernails. She doesn't do that anymore. I wonder when she stopped.
My son will have dim memories, if any, of his great-grandparents, just as I have faded images of mine. And my time with my grandparents is running out. I need to drive up there soon.
