Every summer, from the time I was six until the time I was seventeen, was spent at my paternal grandmother’s house.
One of my earliest memories, and one that I still hold dear, was the time I was at my “summer home” and woke up in the middle of the night very frightened. I must have been six or seven years old.
My grandmother must have heard me crying because soon she was there, bringing with her a kitchen chair. She sat in the chair backward and told me not to worry because she was there now and would stay. She talked to me a bit and her southing voice soon had me off to sleep.
I remember waking up a few times during that night, and each time she would be there. At first she would be sitting straight up, but as the night progressed I woke up to her with her head resting on the top of the back of the chair as if asleep. Maybe she was. She sat by my bedside till the sun came up.