Autumn in Michigan is spectacular. I love this time of year. The morning of September 19, 1975 seemed to possess a special, almost ethereal, charm. I attributed it to the season’s glory.

I arrived at work and started my daily task of completing hundreds of medical insurance forms. I was busy. Focused. Around 8:30 my phone rang for the third time that morning. I grumbled to myself, but answered politely.

For a moment, silence reverberated over Ma Bell’s lines. I was about to hang up when my son-in-law said, “Good Morning, Grandma!” My granddaughter, Erin Nicole, had entered this world.

My shouts and tears ricocheted off the office walls. My daughter had been married nine years before having a child. But, finally, I was a card-carrying grandma. I grabbed my purse and zoomed my way to the hospital. Unlike the throngs of people imbibing in Paw Paw’s wine festival, I was high on joy.

I will never forget my first peek at my brown-eyed pride and joy. Over the years, Erin and I have shared love, laughter, adventures, and a few tears. From her infancy, we simply enjoyed our time together.

You’d think a teenager and busy young professional would have better things to do than hang out with Grandma. Not Erin. She always made a special effort to be with me and laugh at the silliest things.

Erin is now a stunning young woman–beautiful on the inside and out. Each night, when I say my prayers, I whisper a special one for Erin. “Granddaughter, I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.”

She knows what I mean.