To the Ones We Love That Never Leave Us

A few weeks ago I was at a cute new bar with a few girlfriends, and there was one of those card games on the table where you ask each other thought-provoking questions. 

“What is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you?”

Everyone shared their answers, and between responses I silently racked my brain for something that felt appropriate. Each thought that rose to the surface pointed back to a common theme. To her. As I started to speak, it became suddenly apparent to me how my grandmother’s entire existence felt like one giant act of kindness. I burst into tears. I hate crying in front of other people. I felt embarrassed. Then overwhelmed. Or maybe the other way around. 

How lucky am I to have had her presence in my life. I knew it all along, but in this moment, I knew it. You know what I mean?

In her last decade or so, it became customary for Ma to give us money on her birthday. We all thought it was silly, but we knew better than to tell her no. Last week we had to purchase a new HVAC unit for the house, and like clockwork, a check showed up in the mailbox covering nearly the full amount. “How many more times will she continue to bail me out?” I wondered. The shame only surpassed by feelings of deep gratitude. I hope I’ll be able to do that for someone one day.

The thing I’ve struggled with the most is not feeling her presence after her passing. She was a devout Christian woman and definitely wouldn’t believe in much of the woo woo BS I buy into. But I also know she wouldn’t abandon me. So I asked her last week to prove herself — if she’s really with me, I wanted her to make my new rhododendron (the one that I bought because it looked similar to an azalea in her backyard) bloom on her birthday. And even though the dreary weather matched my mood for the day, I sobbed as I gazed out the window at the prettiest single pink bloom. 

She’s here.

She would’ve been 100 today. I hoped to celebrate her in some grand way. To plan a fun activity she would’ve loved or bake her a cake. To not spend the day spiraling out. But I cried three times before my workday even started. I’m sure some years will be easier than others. This one was especially difficult. But I’ll keep trying.

So, to the ones we love that never leave us, may we live in a way that’s worthy of your presence. And may it never feel too far away.