Friday, February 13, 2009

I'm barely holding onto you

I spoke of you last night, while having dinner with my friend Kate. Reflected on the fact that when they put you on morphine, I knew then it was the end. And I'd been looking at the calendar, knowing this day, yet again, was coming. That's the funny thing about calendars and anniversaries . . . good or bad, they keep coming. The years pass and yet, you aren't here to enjoy them.

I was explaining to a co-worker today about these letters I write each year to you, how hard I've taken your death in the past few years. What resonates with me, bothers me most is the fact that I really saw your moving to Washington as finally an opportunity to get to know you as a person and not just my grandmother. To be able to build the kind of friendships I have with my mother and her mother. But that opportunity was short and limited; I didn't know how little time we had left.

This past summer, our family traveled across the country and attended a family reunion for Mom's family. All the kids and grandkids and great-grandkids of my maternal grandmother, gathered in one spot for a long weekend of fun and games. And when we got the pictures taken, it was almost magical to see all the lives that were created or touched because of this one woman. I cannot help but try to envision the picture we would have taken with you.

Accepting that you are gone comes easier with time, but there are moments, like today, when its almost too painful to even fully think about. How you were fine and then you were under the weather and then you were in the hospital and gone. I know it was stretched out for a number of weeks, but looking back, it feels like it went by so fast. Too fast to ever fully say the things that should have been said.

You were an amazing woman. You raised two incredible boys to become incredible men. You had a spark and a spirit and a sense of humor that still resound in me. I don't see many hereditary traits that I got from you, but I still know you are as much a part of me.

I just wish you were here so I could tell you this in person.

I miss you so. Love you even more. That will never change.

Always and forever

Your granddaughter

Elizabeth June

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