20 BROCK STREET

Last Monday was an important day to me. Yes, it was September 11th...no doubt an important day in the life of every American. However, 9/11/06 was important to the entire Elliott family because we buried my grandmother.

Before you say, "Oh. I'm so sorry," please realize that it was a day of celebration. In my mind, it was the day my grandmother was set free. She's no longer trapped in a body rendered immobile by a major stroke nine years ago. How can I NOT be happy about that?! It would be selfish of me to wish otherwise for her. Trite as it could possibly sound, she really did experience ultimate healing last week.

There's not enough space here to eulogize my grandmother and hope to do her justice--I won't even try.

She was an amazing woman. A strong woman. A true steel magnolia.

I could reminisce about all of the ways that she cared for me and the other grandchildren. I could tell stories about what a supportive wife she was. I could write paragraph after paragraph about her unbelievable cooking. I could list pages of selfless acts that she performed throughout her 86 years in this world.

When I think of my grandmother, I think of stability. Plain and simple.

You see, my family moved quite often as I grew up. Between stints as an Army brat, a seminary kid, and then a preacher's kid, I'd be hard-pressed to rattle off all of my addresses through the years. Some I remember, others I don't. Sure, I could probably scrounge up a street name for you, but a number? Are you kidding? Too many to remember.

However, one thing always stayed consistent in my life. Grandmother was always going to be safely ensconced in her humble house at 20 Brock Street. It wasn't just a house. It was a home...my home.

I spent countless hours, days, months there. I can honestly say that the majority of my Christmas memories are of waking up (in my sleeping bag) at her home. I remember meals at the kids' table. I remember the exhilaration of finally earning a spot at the adults' table. I remember bringing my friends to her house. (Naturally, she fed us all!) I remember "courting" *ahem* several different boyfriends at her house. (Please note that alllll potential boyfriends had to pass the grandmother test!)

Throughout my college years, whenever I had to fill out any forms, I (without hesitation) always listed her address as my "permanent" address. I knew that it was always possible that my parents may move...but I could always rely on 20 Brock Street being my permanent address.

Always....