June. For all, one month out of twelve. For most, the beginning of an anticipated season. To me, my Nanny (grandmother). My newfound guardian angel, my childhood and forever best friend, a part of me–for now, I feel like I am no longer whole.
I haven’t been able to get the loaf of bread from the pantry, the jam from the fridge, or the peanut butter from the cupboard and take two slices from the loaf to smother the wheat in both ingredients. To sit down by myself, no longer seated across from you at the table, and eat the two halves alone–not having you tell me I put too much peanut butter or your tea isn’t hot enough.
I can’t see an old black Cadillac drive down the block next to my house and not wonder if it has red velvet interior like yours. Do they also pin-up their falling ceiling with sewing pins?
It’s been a while since our last road trip together with the family–you and I sharing Goldfish and Wheat Thins in the backseat, mom’s in the front seat. It was always the three of us. Christmas afternoon tea of me, you and mom is a tradition we’ve continued but we’re still missing you.
Growing up, you were never not there: Sunday dinners, afternoon playdates, whenever I needed (or wanted) to be picked up from school.
Losing you was difficult. It didn’t happen all at once, but slowly. I just wish we had more time–time to sew dresses or Halloween costumes together, time for you to watch me grow up and simply time together.
But thank you for being the person, friend, grandmother I needed most growing up. I may not have realized that until these past few weeks, but I’ll never let those memories go. Though I know you’re with me every day in everything that I do.
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