Seven years ago today I received a voice mail that my Grandmother was dead. I was barely in my twenties and felt cheated that she left so early in my life. Getting that message by voice mail made the news even harder to digest.
My grandmother was like my mother and my mother is more like a sister. I’m not taking anything away from my mother, she was a mere teenager when she gave birth to me and we have grown up together over the years. “Granny” as I called her, was the woman who taught me to cook, put me on the bus in the morning, had dinner waiting when I got home in the afternoons and she made cakes with me during the holidays. You get the idea.
Every year around this time I drown in a sadness of missing my grandmother while everyone speaks of visiting their grandparents for the summer. I get mad at the world for the unfair hand I feel I was dealt and would give anything to “have one more conversation” when life seems to get the best of me.
After seven years I can finally make a cake alone without chocking myself with tears, and wrap up in the hand-made quilts she made me without crying myself to sleep.
Why the sad entry? To get someone to realize you must enjoy what you have while you still have it. If I had known I only had twenty-two short years I would have visited more, called more, just been around her more. The truly sad part is that I am the only grandchild that knew her well. I find myself using her quotes without thinking about it and referring to the talks we had to get my point across.
I’ll miss her until we meet again. Until then I hope to make her proud.