my first love
There’s no better place to start.
I can’t ever say enough about her.
I was born from my mother and directly into her arms. Maybe I have baby duck syndrome. Her smile and infectious personality imprinted on my baby brain and I spent the next 19 years of my life waddling in her foot steps.
I wish that everyone could be in the presence of her love just once in their life. It was loud, unabashed and intense. Everyone knew where they stood with her because she told you. If you were in her favor it was showers of happiness, hugs, kisses, I love you’s, compliments, thoughtful advice solicited or not. She was love.
I don’t really try to be her. Though maybe I should. She is just an indelible part of me. I open my mouth most days and my Grammy comes out. You. Are. Welcome. When I pinch you booty, squeeze you so tight that I lift you off of the ground, bring you flowers on a rainy day and profusely remind you of how important that you are to me… it is the result of being showed those things myself.
She was remarkable.
She was the first person who ever seemed really cool to me. People gravitated to her. She kept up her social circle like it was her job. I loved nothing more than being paraded around with her. She never apologized for bringing a kid to such and such event. Instead she marched me up to the biggest wig there and introduced me with some ego boosting compliment. I really feel like everyone deserves a cheerleader. Someone to be infinitely proud of them even if in actuality they’re pretty mediocre. She was mine.
She did all of the grandma things so well. Cookies stacked to the ceiling. Hand made afghans. Cradled in a rocking chair even when I had outgrown her. Get anything that you want at the store. She also did what no one else will ever be able to replicate. She was my best friend. We had no secrets. I’ve slowly let a few of hers slip over the years but some of them will always be in my vault. If you told her a secret I probably knew about it (and maybe vise versa, she was a chatty Kathy). I can’t count the number of times that I called her hysterical and after hours of talking I walked away put back together, confident that this world is doable. She would listen, pick out the parts where you sounded like you had a clue and then recite them back to you with all sorts of declarations about how you are a magnificent person who knows what’s best. And that’s what you’ll do. How I’ve missed that. Jesus.
I don’t want to imagine what my life would have been like without her. I honest to God feel like my Grammy and Papa were a gift to my existence. The reason why I am emotionally and mentally okay. I hope she knew that. Since she died I’ve made a point to sing the song of gratitude to everyone that I couldn’t survive this world without. I don’t want to be left in this life wondering if you knew that you are my moon and my stars.
Please, tell the people that you love that you do. Every damn day. Write them, long or short, poetic or not. Our time here, our time together is too short. Shout it out.