I wish we could sit on the front porch rocking chairs during the lightning storms you loved so I could tell you in person; since we can’t, I’ll write this like you’re still here.
Happy birthday, Granny. Even though you’re not getting any older, I’m keeping your memory alive. I’ve given up on the hope that your absence will stop hurting like the invisible hands of grief wrapped around my throat. You said you never want to see me cry like that again, but sometimes I still do.
Too often we idiolize the dead so I won’t pretend any person is perfect, though you were one of the wonderfully strong and loving women who raised me. I wouldn’t be who I am without you, one who never doubted my creativity and whimsical ideas. Thank you for finally making me believe that I’m special, and that just maybe I am a miracle, even if only in your eyes.
If there’s any way you can still see, hear, or feel me I hope you know all of this and how much I love you – that one of my deepest regrets is that I did not crawl in the hospital bed to sleep beside you one last time – and how I carry a part of you in everything I do. There are endless reasons why I wish you were still here, but I tell myself you’re in a better place. I love you and like you, Granny.