I''m still on the young side to do too much nostalgic walking down memory lane, but its my blog and I''m gonna.

There are two women who helped shape the person that I have become. The first is my paternal grandma. To give you a quick mental image, think of the genteel yet spunky women in "Steel Magnolias". She had sons, so when I arrived on the scene, I was her girl. She was a daughter of the Depression from Somerset, Kentucky who rose to become rather wealthy and powerful before women actually did this sort of thing. We used to joke that she loathed anything that remotely resembled Kentucky poor. From my perspective, she heralded all of the rules that fines Southern women obeyed. Yet still, there was real spunk and rebellion brewing underneath the surface. She was this fabulous juxtaposition between what she knew she was supposed to be and who her inner spirit really was. She always had perfectly manicured nails, but could laugh at a dirty joke or sip a bourbon with the best of them.

She absolutely adored me. She bought all my dresses and I was her only grandchild to attend the University of Kentucky. Sometimes I can still hear her tinkling laugh and feel her ever-softly lotioned hands on my face. She made me feel cherished.

On the radio right now there is a song by Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton entitled "When I get where I''m going". It talks about how the writer will tell his grandpa how much he''s missed him when he gets to Heaven. That''s what I''m going to do. She will hold my face in her hands and laugh. We''ll eat red velvet cake and sip sun-made iced tea together on the front porch and gossip like the old women that reside deep in our souls.

She died a horrible death. Parkinson''s disease withered her small frame away slowly. The last three years of her life were terribly painful and degrading. I didn''t believe it, but we got to the point where we wanted her to go. She sure wanted to go. I know its selfish, but sometimes I still miss her so much.

What is terrible is that during her final years, I was in kind of a bratty "me" stage and I didn''t go see her as much as I should have. I regret this deeply. It was so hard to see her, so emotional. I don''t offer this as an excuse, because it is a piss poor one. Yet, somehow I know that her love for me is unconditional.

Right before she died, I had a warm pleasant dream wherein she was riding in a caboose of a train with other people. I could only see their feet as her head craned out the back door. The sun was setting and she was young and healthy and vibrant with that tinkling laugh. As the caboose of the train pulled away, I asked her if she was going. She smiled and said yes. I asked her if I would see her again and she replied in about 50 years. I was 28 at the time. I awoke shortly thereafter by a phone call from my mom who let me know that my grandma had passed away.

She is with me every day and I''m grateful that of the 6 billion people living on this planet, she was mine. I was her beloved. That is a rare gift indeed.