Many people grow up never having the opportunity to know their grandparents. I am extremely grateful to have known mine. The first several years of my life were largely spent at my Grandmom and Grandpop’s house. Both my parents worked full-time, and I ended up attending the same elementary school where my Grandmom worked. As I sit in the quiet of their empty house this morning, I feel both profound thankfulness and overwhelming heartache. I miss them.

Nine weeks ago today, after a long and courageous fight against blood clots and tumors, my Grandmom went to be with the Lord. It’s odd how it can feel like just yesterday that I saw her, while simultaneously as if it has been years since I’ve seen her face or heard her voice. How desperately I want to talk to her today; to celebrate her. I would want her to know…

Grandmom, Happy Grandest-Mother’s Day! I love you so much. I am reminded of this love every day when I walk around your house. When I sit in your chair and turn on Blue Bloods. When I walk outside and see your aloe vera growing wild. When I mow the lawn and think about how much more you’d love it than when those landscape guys did it. When I find notes stashed away in your car or a drawer. When I come across marshmallow cream while trying to find vanilla to make cookies. When I see your stockpile of Tasty Kremes in the freezer while grabbing ice. When we open up all the doors of the house to ‘let the breeze in’ every evening, and I swear I swept back to another world decades ago. When I drink my morning coffee from your ‘skinny’ mug. When I need flour and have to move your favorite Jewish wine. There are a million random little moments each day that I feel that love and want to share it with you.

I used to get so annoyed that you had to stop and get donuts every Sunday, or constantly make baked goods for people. Every week, you’d bake and purchase treats to distribute to all your friends. I never really understood why it was so important to you, until now. It was never really about a pastry. It was about what they received with it. You cared for people like no one I’ve ever known. You made people feel seen and heard. You made them feel loved. While you were sick, I was overwhelmed by the people who reached out. Friends from church to your neighbors, even the most unsavory ones, to the mailman, the insurance agent, and even the UPS guy…they all wanted to check-in, they all missed you (and your lemon bars). 

I often think back to those days, and consider how I want to live more like you. To be more selfless. To give more. To be more grateful. To know people’s names and their stories. To offer what I can, always with a heart of love. These are the things you did so flawlessly.

I look back over my lifetime with you, and cherish all that I learned from you. Mostly about the freedom to enjoy and live life to the fullest. From enjoying the messiest summer fruits with no shame, to climbing the magnolia tree barefoot, to the most graceful games of catch in the front yard, to my first ever cross-country road-trip…I have no doubt that I got my sense of adventure from you. I yearn to see the world from the stories you shared with me. I chase after things that I want because you showed me how. It may have looked different over the years, but you taught us how to endure with grace and tenacity. You exhibited a strength and courage in life, no matter what trials or hardships or hurts were thrown at you. Your perseverance was unmatched, even heroic. It is how I hope others will see me one day.

It is hard, almost unbearable, to consider living the remainder of my life without you. Some days I don’t even know how it will be possible. You won’t get to see me buy a house, or eat a homecooked meal in my kitchen. You won’t get to see me get married, or hold my babies. You won’t get to see me get licensed, or one day become a doctor. You won’t get to see me climb mountains, or wade through the valleys. There won’t be any more birthday calls, or ‘just because’ text messages. No more reunions, or birthday train rides. No more dinners and holidays around your table. No more.

I was never prepared for the day that you would be no more on this Earth. But I am so thankful for how full you have left it.

I will hold tight to the joy and love that you filled our lives with. I will remember the laughter and the tears that you shared with us. I will carry your legacy with me every day, as a reminder to live with purpose. And just as you ran the race with such grit and determination, so will I.

I love you a million cups of decaf coffee. Missing you, today and always.