I walk into the kitchen, inhaling the air of her home, and shout, "Yoooo-hoooo!" I hear her familiar laugh as she gets up off the couch and comes to into the kitchen with a big smile.
She greets me with a "Hey, Baby!" I chuckle and fall into her arms that have known my embrace for all the years of my life. She invites me into the living room and we sit and catch up. She tells me what's been going on with the family, neighborhood, church, and town. She asks me questions about what's going on in my life, and I fill her in on what's been happening in my "neck of the woods".
She asks me if I'm hungry (as if she can already read my mind). I bashfully say, "Well, I could go for a grilled cheese." She smiles and obliges my request saying, "Come on in the kitchen and let me get one for you." I smile as she places the sandwich on my plate...bite into the sandwich that I can never, no matter how hard or how many times I try, replicate. It is as good as it always is.
She sits down and we continue to talk. We talk about the future...we talk about the past...we talk about fears...we talk about worries...we talk about hopes...we talk about dreams.
We sit and continue to converse for awhile. I finally say, "Well, I better get going." She replies with, "Why don't you just stay here!" I laugh and tell her I really wish I could (and it is the truth...I wish I could just stay in the little, happy bubble she has created where all my worries seem to stop and pause). I head for the door and we hug one more time (I'm not a huge hugger, but I relish in her's). She tells me to be careful and to come back soon as she walks me out the door. I assure her I will. I reverse out the driveway and wave to her, smiling as I head down the road.
Today would be my grandmother's 83rd birthday. I wish more than anything that the above scenario were possible. I wish that I could call her or send her a card or just see her. I know that the year after someone dies is the hardest. I know all the "firsts" are difficult. I foresee the holidays being tough for my family. I have to have faith that she is happy and at peace. I hold onto her memories like a tiny child holds onto their first favorite toy.
After she passed and everyone began the task of cleaning out her house, we found so many interesting things. We found old letters, old books, old pictures, and other items. I feel like I've learned all this new information about her. I wish I could ask her about who that person in the picture was or why she purchased this and that. I wish I could ask her about the letters we found from my grandfather as he was courting her. I've also discovered the little things that we have in common. Keeping a stockpile of cards and stationary. Writing little poems for people (I also discovered my grandfather did the same). So many little things and questions and thoughts that I wish I could share with her.
The thought of living in her house brings me mixed emotions. In a way, it really means she's gone and not coming back. Because of that, it is a little sad. However, I'm also excited to continue her legacy of hospitality, good times, and good food. She always welcomed everyone and had an open door policy. All that to say it's just been very bittersweet. I hope she approves of all the updates and things I've been doing and plan to do with her sweet little house that we all love so much.
Happy birthday, Granny. I miss you more than words could say. I hope, more than anything, you are having a giant piece of yellow layer cake with chocolate frosting up in heaven with a nice cup of coffee. I love you...
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