I miss her so much. I miss her voice. Seeing her name pop up on my phone. Her fragile body sitting in her favorite chair. I miss her TV being so loud you could hear it as soon as you walked up to her back door. I miss the way she peaked in between the blinds to see if it was “you”.
Let’s be clear here. There were only truly 1 or 2 “yous” she was letting in.
- My mom (her daughter)
- My dad (her son-in-law)
- Me (her chocolate chip)
We’re the only 3 that could pop up on her at a moments noticed, she’d peek, and then reluctantly open the door.
My brother drove her crazy- ha! He’d just bang on the door until she couldn’t take it any more. Love you, Trey! 🙂
I miss walking into her hot ass house. With each progressing year, her house temperature upped about 5 degrees. She passed at 82 so best believe you could bake a cake in there, no oven required.
I miss driving into my hometown and her house being my first stop. Skipping up the front stones to her back door (that she used as the primary) and singing “Mamaaa” like I was 5 years old again, every time.
I’m not sure where this is coming from. All this grandmother emotion. She passed June of 2015 and that was hard, but this is a different kind of hard. The holidays were tricky- mainly because my mom struggled so much, but I managed. Sure I cried, but I felt pretty strong and at peace with her departure.
7 months later. After watching my lady buckeyes bring home a W from that team up north, a wave of emotion hit me like a ton of bricks on the plane. I was riding in the window seat, just silently reflecting on how grateful I am for my life. As we glide over various cities and towns, all I could think about was her. I could hear her small sweet, fragile voice, saying my name. I could literally hear her telling me how proud of me she is. I could hear her forewarning me of shutting down.
She couldn’t stand to see or hear me cry. It literally made her weak. I would call her on a rough day, a day I didn’t want to cry, and her 30 sec of encouragement, telling me she loved me and asking me what I had eaten for dinner, put everything into perspective.
No matter what I was struggling with at that time, I was loved.No matter how broken down I was making myself feel, she reminded me that I had a roof over my head, and food in my belly, and a grandmother who would do nothing less than remind me as frequently as she could, of how special I am.
She made me remember the small things. She made me remember how she earned a living cleaning and scrubbing floors. Being a maid and a mother to my mom and her two siblings. She reminded me that it could always be worse. That, my greatest challenges would turn into my greatest strengths. “you’ll see baby!” Or that I didn’t quite understand “How good I had it”
Oh mama. tonight I wish I could just get those 30 seconds in. Not to discuss or analyze where I’m at in my life. But to simply hear your voice. Have you ask me what I ate today. And for you to remind me how proud you are of me, and how much you will always love me.
Leaning in to life can truly put a lot of things into perspective…readers you are loved. Even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when you can’t have the phone call you want. Even when you don’t even know what or why you’re upset…you’re loved, and it’s going to be okay.