I’m one of six children (in the middle of course), and the first to declare to our mother that I would be having her first grandchild. This announcement did not bring  the expected joyous response.  As usual I’d spoken without thinking and neglected to say first, “when I grow up….”.  What I thought was a generous gesture was immediately met with a confusing (but colorful) conglomeration  of eye-rolling, mouth frothing, demonic babbling. I had just turned 14.  Thankfully a good (and rather large) friend of the family was there to hold closed the gates of hell that, if I understood correctly, I was about to be thrown through. My mom was born and reared in Blackpool, England and not prone to hysterics, let alone slobbering demonic babbling. As I grew into adulthood I often wondered in amazement why this rare display was not a daily ritual, as she had endured many years of single parenting, and with grace I’ll never know, to boot. At age 21 I gave birth to my moms first grandchild, Daniel, and the only one she would ever know. At the same time , we, her children almost ceased to exist, unless we were doing anything that might upset young Daniel. The rules written in stone did not apply to Master Daniel and while one of us at Sunday dinner might receive a dirty look for passing a plate incorrectly, young Daniel was allowed to seat himself in the center of the dining room table and take from any ones plate whatever he fancied to eat because you better darn well give it to him! Shortly after Daniel turned two Mom  became terminally ill. She was with us eleven months more. Of course Daniel didn’t understand, it was a hard time. We were pulling up into her driveway about three weeks after she died and Daniel told me he wanted to tell his Nana something. I told him I talked to Nana all the time , he could tell her. He promptly asked me how and I explained. He wasn’t too convinced so I offered to tell her for him and he whispered “it’s a secret”. When we got out of the car he walked to the center of her yard and stepped under a dogwood tree she had planted years before. It was like a scene from a movie, I could see his profile, his strawberry blond curls catching the final, brilliant rays of the setting sun. Lifting his face to his Nana he revealed something of such great importance only she  could be trusted to safeguard his secret. And she did. I never asked him and we never spoke of it again. Today Daniel is 26 and still very private with his personal thoughts. I’m glad I didn’t ask. That one secret is forever safe.