Years ago I thought I knew what love is, but I was wrong, very wrong. Once while in a long dry time alone, I found some words, and taped them to my fridge. Then every time I reached for coffee cream I'd see them, "He who loves shows love".

My children were marrying and moving away, or joining the Navy and moving farther, and I missed them, but couldn't see that lonely times were the best of those days, because nobody called or wrote with bad news. One son got into some trouble, but not enough to be charged with anything. Still, with the policeman's help I arranged him an overnight stay in jail, which seemed to fix the problem, and time went on.

My pesonal mantra began to grow from the "He who loves....." to one that just about covered the front of the fridge. Words like "Go placidly amid the noise and haste.....Neither be cynical about love.....You are a child of the universe....It is still a beautiful world", from Desiderata, they soothed this mother's heart.

The next generation was graduating and heading for higher learning. Things grandmas are so proud to be proud of. But some didn't bring accolades. One grandchild dropped out of school, and another one did too. A granddaughter we think was into drugs died a questionable death, and it looks like another may be heading for similar problems.

But the one who saddened me most about his growing up years, is the grandson I watched Land Before Time With, over and over, and made living room forts we crawled around in. I drilled him like a mathematical sergeant, teaching him his numbers.

A few years passed, and I began hearing of skirmishes he'd get in, and they kept getting worse and eventually brought him here. My wise old sayings on the fridge didn't know what to do with it, so I reverted to crisis mode and ran from it all. I moved away.

A son, the boy's father, every visiting day gets in his rusty old van, and now that I'm back home I go with him. Last evening I got to be at his group therapy. Would love telling you about it, but privacy is needed. I do think it is alright to say that when we got there, and the young men filtered in, when he saw I was there, he headed straight my way. I am understanding how much he needs me there.

When we visit my son always asks what he needs. Everything, anything must be approved. Nothing can simply be placed in his hands. I understand. I know there are rules.

He likes art, drawing. They supply paper, but the pencils are short. Long ones aren't allowed. He drew a long stem rose for me. It has no thorns. I think I'm understanding why. Sometimes we have to get all bare again, before we can grow. The next thing he's drawing are some seagulls flying. I thought he would like making something that's free.

For months I've trudged through snow that's sometimes deep, on the long trail we take to where he's kept. I'm learning many rules, what's alright to bring, or not, and which doors we can go through. Each time I'm there a metal detector tells everyone about my knee replacement. But when I see the smile my grandson has for me, any indignity leaves.

Before he went there he was a smoker, so I asked him if he'll start up again, and he said "No, I'm done with that." like he meant it, and I'm thinking "This is good". He's making wise decisions.

We talked about his future once he's out, and like a silly grandma I asked: "So when you grow up, what do you plan to be?" He wants to be a counselor, for kids like him. I think now I can take those papers off my fridge.