I have been withholding this information for some reason. I don't know why. It isn't anything big. Just that i had my reunion with my street grandma. It was a day later than it should have been, because, I am ashamed to say, I avoided her once. I didn't have the time it would take to update her on the past 5 months, so I didn't walk down the street where she stands. I saw her, there, though. Something in me also made me feel a little guilty. I think it is about my real grandma and how I don't visit her in the nursing home. She doesn't remember anyone, I tell myself, so it is ok. But it really isn't ok. These things rarely are. Last time that I went to visit, there was a terrible stomach flu raging among the inmates. I didn't get to see her, but I did get the flu. Pregnant and with the flu. Now, Jeff and I agree that a nursing home is too dirty for infants. So, odds are that I may never see her again. This is what made me avoid Lydia, my street grandma, the other day. This sadness and yearning to see my real grandma.

When my parents told my real grandma that I was pregnant with twins, she didn't really remember me. But to the news, she said, "better her than me!" Ah, that is my Margie. Always with the quippy. When my dad told her that she had two new great grandchildren, she looked at him and said, "mike's daughter, right? she had them." All the while, not even knowing that she was talking to Mike. So it was with all of this in my little head that I seek out my street grandma for the first time in 5 months.

Lydia is right where I left her 5 months ago, next to the smoothie place where I get my lunch. As I walk up, she reaches into her giant silver purse and pulls out a pair of pink gloves. She hands them to me without even saying hello. "For you," she says. "They match your hair." To this I wonder how long this woman has had these gloves in her purse. How many times did she search the streets for my pink hair. How much did she worry about me. And this breaks my heart. I am heartbroken at what I have put her through. I am heartbroken at what we put all grandmas through. They don't deserve this.

She tells me that she got my card announcing the birth of the babies. To this I am happy because it means that she indeed does live somewhere and not outside. She also tells me that around July she thought I might not make it. She worried that I was going to die. I came close, I tell her. I give her another picture of the girls and she is delighted. She asks a lot of questions about daycare and seems worried that I am leaving my daughters somewhere unsafe. "And at night," she says. "You have a place to stay at night." To this, I feel so ashamed of my lovely 7th floor apartment with its solarium overlooking the park. I wish she didn't assume that I am poor, but she worries about me.

Lydia wants to buy a present for the babies. She wants to buy them gloves. I tell her I already have some, but they always could use socks. "I know a lady who sells socks," she says, delighted. I tell her to please not buy too much, as I look down at her cup nearly empty except for a dollar and some coins. I offer to buy her lunch, but she smiles and scolds me. "You know I am trying to lose weight and you offer me food!" I see Margie in her smile. I hear Margie when she speaks. And I am heartbroken. And so, I will avoid her corner for a few days until the pain is dulled.