I love my grandma.
And sometimes love hurts.
Love makes you venerable. Love means that saying goodbye hurts. It hurts because you've opened up to someone and built a relationship. Love means there is something worth missing if it's taken away.
That old saying "it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all" just keeps popping back into my mind and I wonder if I really believe that. Do I believe all this pain and sadness is worth the love of my Mommom?
Without a doubt in my mind I believe that it is totally worth it.
All the late night snuggles we shared just a few months ago.
The words she spoke one night while scratching my back "I'm so glad we can have these times together."
The afternoons spent making cookies together.
The summer days spent in the pool and riding the golf cart out to the garden to pick blueberries.
All the meals spent at O'Charley's and Chick-fil-A where we would both order the same thing every time, even when we said we wanted to try something new.
Watching Duck Dynasty together and laughing at all the crazy things they would do or say.
Her persistent questioning every time she saw a picture of me with a boy ("No, Mommom, he's not my boyfriend").
The way she would tell the same stories over and over until I had them memorized.
The way her face would light up when any of her family would walk into her house.
Her constant encouragement.
The way food=love, so you could never leave her house hungry.
The way she cared relentlessly for the people she loved.
The pancakes she made that were the size of a large person's head.
The pancakes she made that were the size of a large person's head.
The birthday cookies we got when we were younger.
The year I was trying my hardest to stay up until midnight to watch the ball drop, bringing in the new year, but I was just so little and so tired my tiny eyes would't stay open so I fell asleep on her lap.
Her constant upbeat attitude.
The pantry that was always stocked with swiss cake rolls, oatmeal cream pies, and devils food cake cookies.
Her constant upbeat attitude.
The pantry that was always stocked with swiss cake rolls, oatmeal cream pies, and devils food cake cookies.
The way she believed in me and told me I was capable of doing anything I wanted.
The trips she would take her grandchildren on (she took me on a cruse to the Bahamas.)
Every Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas celebrated at her house, never lacking any food or love.
The way she taught me compassion. Not just through words but through her actions of delivering meals on wheels for years and taking me along a time or two.
The nights we would stay up far too late playing rummikub and becoming so tired we were silly.
The candy jar that never ran dry supplied just for her grandchildren.
I love you, Mommom.
I miss you.
