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Grandma?

I hate Mondays. Today was no exception since it was a cloudy day with
rain in the forecast. Mondays are wash days. I enjoy hanging my linens
on the line in the sun. To top it off, I was beginning to feel the
onslaught of an allergy attack, which would certainly be worsened by the
dryer running most of the morning.

My self-pitying thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone
back in the other side of the house. "Here it is 7:30 a.m. and someone
is calling," I said to myself as I tripped over the dog first and then
the cat on my way to answer the phone.

"Hello," I said in a somewhat hoarse but unfriendly voice.

"Grandma?" came the retort.

My heart swelled immediately, and I took in a quick sigh of relief before
I replied. My grandson Noah is in the Marines and has been stationed in
Baghdad but had been given just hours to pack up and get ready to return
to the states. A few hours later, they canceled those orders and
ordered them back to Baghdad for an unknown amount of time. My son and
his wife were, as I was, worried about him and anxious to have him home.

With all this running through my head, I finally answered the voice on
the phone with eagerness, "Hey, Sweetheart, where are you?"

"I'm on the way to visit you," came the reply.

"Are you serious?" I asked in disbelief, "Where are you now?"

"I just left Fort Smith and am heading to Fort Sill with one of my
buddies who lives there. We are traveling in his car."

"Fort Smith? Fort Sill?" came my retort. I was confused since he would
have been returning to Camp Pendleton, a Marine base, not an Army base.
I said, "Why would you go there?"

There was a pause on the line and I feared I had lost the
connection but finally there was an unsure, "Is Margaret there?"

"No, there is no Margaret here. Who is Margaret?" I replied as my heart
fell.

"Uh,er...uh, I know you won't believe me but I am in an
automobile traveling to visit my Grandmother and I have her number on my
speed dial. I pushed it and got you. I don't know how it happened but
believe me, I am sorry," the young voice said at the other end of the
line.

"Well, you may not believe me," I replied, "but I have a
grandson who sounds just like you on the phone and always starts out by
saying, Grandma when he calls me. I wanted it to be him more than you
can know.

He has been in Kuwait City then Baghdad and then in Iran waiting for
orders to come home. He got them last week and was ready to leave and
they sent his platoon back to Baghdad. He is a Marine from Camp
Pendleton but lives in Fort Worth," I explained.

"This may be a wrong number," I continued, "but it gives me a chance to
say something to you I would like to say to all soldiers who have been
involved in this war and the frightening weeks since.

We are all proud of you, one and all, and our hearts have been praying
for you daily and always thinking of your bravery and the wonderful job
you are all doing."

"You may not be my grandson but you are some lucky people's grandson who
probably think the same way I do. I am glad you called, even if it was a
wrong number. I felt closer to my Noah through hearing your voice," I
told him.

"Ma'am," came his reply, "I don't understand some of the things that
happen in this world. I have never gotten a wrong number on my speed
dial before, particularly to another grandmother.

I am more religious since being in Iraq. I have come to know about faith
first hand for the first time in my life. One thing that has stood out
clear among the soldiers I am stationed with is that it is faith that
gets us home. I kinda feel perhaps there was a reason for this call
going to you. It gives me a chance to tell you a few things.

I was also stationed in Baghdad, also waited for orders to
return home, also was sent back to Baghdad, and now, finally I am heading
home. I am in the Army, however. I am only 20 and dreamed of being a
soldier for a long time. It is different from how I imagined it, and I
have had to grow up a lot.

Perhaps this call came to you as a message from your grandson saying he
will also return home safely in the near future."

"I really believe that," I told him. "I heard his voice in you
and it gave me joy. It will always be a special call to remember."

"By the way," he said, "while we are still connected, let me say thanks
to you and all the other grandparents, parents, siblings, friends and
strangers who sent the many cards, pictures, supplies and well wishes and
prayers to us all. We were working for one cause, together, no matter
what branch of the military. It was the folks at home who got us through
and will get your grandson through."

"Thank you, for what you have done, for your wonderful attitude and for
your call. It has made me relieved, happy and touched," I told him.
"Now, call your grandmother and tell her she has a wonderful grandson."

Again, he said thanks and the call ended.

My morning became special.

I sat in the chair for a while and tears flowed from my eyes and my
heart. Tears of every emotion you can imagine. I first felt ashamed for
being in a bad mood this morning.

Second, I felt as if I had actually heard from my beloved
grandson. I felt an overwhelming pride for those young and not so young
soldiers and the hardships they endure for strangers. The risks they
take in the name of freedom. I cried a few extra tears for two
20-year-old babies/wise men who, through a wrong connection on a cell
phone blended into one for a few minutes to give an aging grandmother a
light heart and a warm feeling of
being touched by the spirit of all life.

As I found solace in the events of the morning, I realized I
didn't even think of asking for his name. For a second I was upset by
this but then I realized, it was meant to be this way. Now he will
always be a voice saying, "Grandma?" and I will always be that grandma
saying, "Where are you?"

Life is sweeter on Mondays now.

Written by MountainWings subscriber, Nancy Campbell, Fort Worth, TX