“Patience is a kind of love. A love that is its own explanation in bewildered circumstance. It is an old, old woman placing a wrinkled-parchment hand against the cheek of a reckless child. Because her heart is too wise to make room for reproach. Too full to find place for offense. ”
—Pavithra Mehta

I remember my grandma Mimi silently listening to my angst-ridden soliloquies from teen through treatment.  She never once looked rattled or offended or surprised.  She only ever looked patient with me, seeing through my restless complaints and wanderlust.  Patience provided more motivation than i realized- to believe i would grow out of chronic cynicism and even eventually get sober and responsible because she believed it, because she had lived through her own recklessness at one point and offered her silent patience- aware she could not change, protect, nor convince me otherwise- that time had to be my teacher. 
Today i am grateful beyond words that Grace taught some big lessons and Time took a huge chunk of the cynicism away before Mimi passed away.  I was able to be with her and somehow, someway, as Grace would have it and touch her face, fix her silver white hair, and thank her for her unconditionally kind, patient eyes and heart that saw through my disquieted years, years i wish i could erase and replace with gratitude so i could have spent so much more time listening to her rather than talking. 
But even then, her love was bigger than my regret because she loved me as i was, knowing something about how time works that i didn't. 
Her essence was patience, and i have endeavored with everything in me to adopt the same pace.  One day at a time, putting all expectations aside, knowing I cannot know someone else's journey, but also knowing Grace and Time teach more than any words or wisdom can or will. 
Thanks Mimi for your patience still.  Your calm presence continues to infuse my days... grace.