Although you have been gone for almost twelve years, I think about you every day. I really miss you.
I miss the way you closed your eyes and threw your head back when you laughed. I do that too.
I miss how you welcomed the chaos that was a house full of grandchildren. I miss the taste of your spaghetti sauce and the way you would roll out and cut your own noodles.
I marvel at how you cooked huge, Sunday suppers in that tiny kitchen, with no counter space, no air conditioning and no dishwasher. I can barely get a meal made for four.
I miss you yelling at me and my cousins to get out of the trees before we break our necks, to quit jumping around in a house with old wiring because we might start a fire and I miss you giving us a grocery list and sending us on our way. We took so long to get back from the store because we stopped to pick mulberries along the way. I suppose you always knew that when we came back with stained fingers.
I loved how you would say, “Everyone needs to be quiet because my story is coming on!” and within five minutes of As the World Turns starting you would be sound asleep. I miss you glaring at us in church when we had the giggles.
I miss you letting us go through your makeup drawer and use your little, Avon lipstick samples. I miss the smell of the roses in your back yard. I miss playing kickball and using your azalea bush as home plate.
I miss watching you take care of Kevin with strength and grace. I am still amazed at the way you would wrap your arms around his chest and “walk” him from room to room. It was the closest thing he had to doing it on his own.
I hate that I was pregnant with my daughter when you died. I wish she had known you. I can’t think of a better role-model, mentor, relative or human being than you. I am so proud to be your grand-daughter.
I know it was a gift to have you around as long as we did, but that doesn’t mean I will ever stop wishing that you were still here.