I miss her profile, her little nose holding up her glasses. I miss the joy and delight she took in teaching me how to play poker with pennies. I miss watching her face grow a deeper shade of red as she fought to contain her fear of the car wash and I miss her snorting laugh at the end. I miss how she'd laugh so hard she'd have to wipe her eyes on the hanky ever present in her pocket. I even miss the crinkle of her nose as she looked over her glasses, a look as sweet and original as she was.
I miss hearing her say "How's my kindred spirit?" I miss how she'd look at me, and how she'd turn her head to one side (just like the ceramic dolls she loved to hand paint) when she spotted something suspect. I miss her hugs, and how she would always, always be ready to cheer me on. She expected greatness from me, came to my Ice Follies performances, riding in a bus for hours sometimes to do so, as she never had a drivers license or learned to drive.
I miss realizing every time I saw her that I was her favorite granddaughter (we all were her favorites!) I miss how much she loved me, and how gruff and vague she was when I asked her for her wedding dates for the genealogy software.
I spoke at her funeral, although I missed saying goodbye to her as she wavered between life and death. Kidney failure finally took her at 87. One of the greatest sacrifices of my life I've ever made is not going to hold her hand. I know Grandma would understand.
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| {My Grandma Jo and me - 1993} |
I miss my Grandma. I miss the scratchy sound of her voice on the phone, her arm across my shoulder, the satisfaction and love she showed every time she was with my mom. I miss the look of love and pride in her eyes. I've seen her in dreams, the first time being- so soon after she passed away the skin under my eyes was still patchy and raw - she held me, kissed my forehead and told me it would be okay. Everything hurt, I missed her so much, I woke sobbing, still feeling the warmth of her hug.
I feel her listening to my prayers, sometimes, and the love and missing each other reminds me to pull out her letters to me written in her scrawl. I know that when I did her temple work, I could feel her through the veil, right there, arms and grin wide, asking "How's my kindred spirit?"
That's how I imagine her greeting me on the other side. Then she'll laugh, and I'll cry, and she'll give me her hanky. "C'mon, kindred spirit." She'll say. And I won't miss her anymore.
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