Three Months

Three months.

I’d be lying if I said I’m doing better.

I still miss you. Every second of every day.

My breath catches in my throat when I think, “I can’t wait to show you this,” or when I wonder if you need any groceries from the store.

I miss our house. I miss going upstairs every morning, afternoon, and night. I miss the way the dog runs up to you and licks your hands until you laugh and tell him to stop.

I miss your hugs and the way you say, “love ya”.

I miss you calling to remind me that the Jazz are playing. Hell, I even miss you calling to yell at me for not putting the garbage out or for leaving the dryer on overnight.

I just. . .miss you. So, so very bad.

I wish I were strong like you.

You, my dear sweet grandmother, who had the strength to tell them to turn the machines off. You were ready for your “next adventure”. And I am happy for you.

But I’m struggling.

After you first passed I focused on the next task – finding funeral songs, printing pictures, making duplicates of everything. And most importantly, being there for my sweet mother who was missing you at a depth I can’t even imagine to fathom.

But now it’s final.

You are gone. You’re not coming back.

I can’t help but mourn the things we won’t have.

The videos I didn’t take. The stories I didn’t write down.

I’m sad that I can’t surprise you with a Burger King ham croissan’wich.

That we can’t watch medical shows together.

That Ollie no longer has someone to spend the long days with while I’m at work.

That you won’t get to see my babies and love on them.

As much as I hurt and ache and long to have you back, I don’t regret a single moment that I spent with you. I had two wonderful years with you, and those were the best two years of my life. I meant what I said when I told you goodbye. Thank you, thank you for everything you’ve given me and taught me. I love you Grandma.