Everywhere I went the other day you seemed to be on the very forefront of my mind. Normally I try my hardest to get thoughts like this out of my head as fast as they enter, but I didn’t this time. The waterfall of grief crashed through the many mental and emotional barricades and walls I had set up; I simply let your memory take over. I laid on your former couch that resides in our living room and simply wept into my husband’s plaid checkered shirt.
I am so happy you got to meet him. You would have been so proud at the way he asked me to be his wife, and has continued to pursue me each day since we said “I Do”. I remember sitting in your dining room as you prepared your famous red skinned potatoes, talking your ear off about him in our early stages of dating. I remember you had this smile on your face as I raved about how he surprised me by coming to my college campus with a dozen orange roses one random afternoon. It was a different kind of smile than I was used to, it was one that made me strong and confident that the choices I were making, were good ones.
A few weeks before our wedding, lilacs bloomed in the neighbor’s yard and if I closed my eyes tight enough, I could picture you bending down to smell them. They were lavender and everything about them reminded me of you. How beautiful and fleeting it was knowing you. And while I know I cherished every moment with you (or at least tried), I wished for a few more moments even though I knew it was in vain.
We said goodbye to Grandpa this past Spring, and knowing you’re both gone just cuts the heart deeply some days. But something helped mend those wounds recently, something and someone, in the form of your sister.
Once I saw her blue eyes and white hair standing on Kentucky soil, I was hooked. Some of the cousins, were inside enjoying the air condition and each others company, but for me, I couldn’t stop talking to her. Hugging her, holding her hand, smiling at her. It was as if God came down in her body and reminded me how close he always is to us. Reassuring me how much he cares for us, even in the darkness, even in the mourning.
I was given a chance to tell those stories I so desperately wanted to tell you, to her. She was as accepting and gracious as you would have been, and we formed quite a bond over the three days we were together.
My cousin and I have always called her our “Florida Grandmommy” and if anyone is deserving of sharing part of your name, it would be her. For as much as I talked to her, I tried to listen twice as much. To stories of you, of “Chris”, of past reunions and about her life. It is a beautiful thing to know your legacy lives on. Not just in journals covered in dust, nor only in photos that hang on our walls but in our hearts, in our minds and in our souls.
I don’t want to sugar coat your life and make it seem you were this ideal and perfect woman. You would honestly hate that. You would probably roll your eyes at me if I even hinted at putting you on a pedestal to be honored.
We miss you everyday and probably will for the rest of our lives.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…
Grandmommy, thanks for being someone to miss. In a weird way, that’s what makes my life so rich. Knowing people that I miss when they’re gone.
Precious!