Holding On

         When I first held you that February day in 2002 I knew that I opened my arms to a loving baby boy.  You didn’t know me but I knew you.  We played together even when you were still in your mother’s womb.  As the months progressed until the day you were born I imagined that I would hold you for the first time.  I did.  I watched as the doctors and nurses brought you into my world and placed your thin dark body into a warm blanket.   Maybe the doctor held you two feet in hand, upside down, and spanked you.  Doctors do things like that to see if you have a voice.  I don’t remember because I was too overjoyed.  I was saying under my breath, hand him to me, hand him to me right now. 

            Your birth brings our family into its fourth generation:  Great-grandmother, Mary Jean; grandmother, Linda; and of course your mother, Latosha.  Anyway, I knew that in a few moments I would hold you and say to myself, “Gramma loves this little boy.”  I left the delivery room knowing that I would forever hold you in my arms.  When I was allowed to receive you from the nursery I gently pushed your cart, for lack of a better word, around to your mother’s waiting arms. I placed my right hand behind your head with my left hand on your bottom so as to get a good look at you even though you could not see me; I felt that my loving presence would embrace your little body.   I held you until your mother said, “Can I have my son?”  She had to ask for you because I did not want to give you up.  “What is his name, I asked her.”  She said, “Kolin, Kolin Brooks Rowell.”  With a name like Kolin Rowell I immediately laughed and said, “Colin Powell.”  “No,” your mother said, “Kolin Rowell.”  I thought, oh! What kind of name is that?  People will call him Colin Powell.  For many months I continued to call you Colin (co-lynn) until I realized I had my own Kolin (ca-lynn). 

            Now you are two years old and able to run through each room of my two-bedroom apartment.  I mean literally run from the living room to the kitchen and in and out of the rooms where we sleep.  I had to turn out the lights and hold you close so that sleep would come to you.  The excitement of playing with hockey sticks, footballs, all kinds of toys thrilled you.  I wanted to sleep.  As you drifted off to sleep I carefully placed your limp body into my bed, as I laid you down your big eyes opened and your face emitted a glow as if to say “thank you Gramma for making me go to sleep.”  I couldn’t help picking you up once more to let you know that I thank you for being in my life.  As I lay you down you drifted off to sleep until 5:00 a.m. in the morning when you awoke to another round of swiftly running throughout the apartment.  Even though Gramma was tired from last night I awake refreshed and ready to run the course of the apartment with you.  After about two hours you began to wind down.  I took you into my arms; placed myself on my sofa and rocked you back and forth until you fell asleep again. 

            Eleven years old I still hold you in my arms.  Great-grandmother now a sixty-year old undergraduate student majoring in English/Creative Writing at the University of Alabama at Birmingham I still find time to shoot a few hoops (basketball) with you.  When you aggravate your four year old sister, London and your eight year old brother, Sephan, I chase you through the house, running up and down the stairs, in one room and out the other.   I’ll bet you didn’t expect that from a great-grandmother, Ha!  I’ll bet you don’t even think of me as a great-grandmother?  After the chase subsides we sit beside each other and laugh about who won.   I hold on to the dream that I will be alive to see you fulfill your dreams and attend a University because great-grandmother has paved the way.