NOTE:
This is an intensely personal piece of writing. I do not post it lightly, and in fact waffled about whether or not I should post it at all. In the end, after consulting a trusted friend, I decided to do so for two reasons.
1) The person this is written to, for, and about was one of the strongest, most supportive, and loving individuals I will ever know. She was a teeny Mexican woman, hardly over 5 feet tall, and yet she had a presence that could completely fill any room. She happened to be my paternal grandmother. And last week marked the two year anniversary of an even that has undeniably changed me: her death.
2) There are no guarantees, ever. This very instant, as you read these words perhaps, you or someone you love could be struck dead in any number of ways. Yes, thinking like this is in some ways morbid…BUT it also forces you to accept the fact that nothing is certain. Least of all life, so it should not be taken for granted. After you read this (if you read this), go out and tell people exactly how you feel about them. Because you can never know, not really, when either one of you might be gone.
What would I say to you right now if I could? If I somehow had the chance to speak to you and have you hear my words, what would I say? As much as I would literally give my right arm for the opportunity to do just that, I honestly have no idea what I would tell you. “I love you” is obvious, “I miss you”, even more so…but undoubtedly they would be the first things I’d utter. I can’t possibly know for sure what would tumble out next, but I’d want it to be something like: “You’ve been gone for two years and I still feel the gaps between where my heart is and where it’s supposed to connect with the rest of me.” I wouldn’t say this to make you or hurt or feel sorry for me, which of course you would. I would just want you to know. I’d tell you that I think about you daily. Sometimes, it’s a little memory that makes me smile fondly. Other days, it’s something that knocks my knees right out. And that when I’m nervous, or upset, or really, really pissed off…it was pointed out to me that I rub the tattoo on my right wrist. Your tattoo. I know you hated my self decorations, called them mutilations in fact, but I also remember you chastised with a smile on your face and a roll of your eyes. I actually think you would have liked this one.
I’d tell you that for the most part, we’re doing fine. Anna is going to have a baby. A boy, due in September. She and Billy are living with us now and they’re saving for a house a of their own. I’m so happy that you knew Billy. And I’m sure it would make you happy to know that I have grown to truly consider him part of our family. He’s the perfect match for her. Robby is going to Hope College, that prestigious private school right in Holland, to study computer science and play football. He has a pretty serious girlfriend, one that I think you’d love--- she’s a lot like my mom. And Adam…oh Adam. He’s tall with a nose like dad and papa’s. He’s grown into a young man. He’s still learning what that means, but he’s a good kid. And a superb all around athlete. My parents are doing well. My dad is pretty solidly booked this summer and my mother has a permanent job with good benefits. He is still stubborn and a little over bearing at times, while she is just as absent minded as ever, but honestly….both of them seem happier than I can remember them being in a while. As for me…I’d break down and tell you how lost I was feeling. AM feeling. And how I simply have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I’d tell you about Connie, about how much I adore her, but how much I’m dying to write professionally somehow.
I would let you know that after you died, the whole family seemed to pull together. Everyone stopped with their senseless, and in the end, trivial bickering and we just a family united. Sons-daughters-parents-brothers-sisters-aunts-uncles-nieces-nephews-cousins. We clung to each other. We held hands on the day we buried you and it felt like we were holding hearts. I want desperately to tell you that it lasted, that we all still keep in touch and we haven’t let things that shouldn’t really matter come between us…but we both know that I never could tell a decent lie, especially to you. We’ve drifted apart again and all the old resentments and bitterness are right back with a large serving of new dramas to push us even further apart. I know it would destroy you to hear such things because it hurts me too, but I’d want you to know the truth. I’d also tell you that I’m beginning to forget your voice. The brusque yet soft way you spoke. The way your slight accent dusted certain words with an atavistic touch so light that it was almost indiscernible. And that your smell has almost leeched completely out of your old green housecoat that you kept at the lake house. Light and powdery, it has all but totally vanished. I might even imagine it to still be there at all now. I would tell you how much this terrifies me. I’m afraid that one day, I’m going to wake up and not be able to recall how your smile looked, or the particular shape of your eyes, or what it felt like to bend down and hug you while your hair brushed against my cheek. I’d talk to you about how robbed I felt loosing you the way we did. I’d apologize for not being able to be there, which is something I still feel needless guilt about. Without question, I would cry and tell you, just so you would know, that you were the most important person to have ever touched my life and I am not the same without you. I’m sure I’d blather on about the amazing friends I have made, and equally so about the ones I had lost. I’d ramble about my adventures in Pennsylvania, Chicago, Ohio, California, and Canada too. ..but before anything else, just in case you had to leave before I had the chance to say everything I had wanted to say (as was the case in life) I’d say this:
“I love you. And I miss you terribly.”
