Thursday, December 29, 2011
to the one not with me
I just wanted you to know that I thought about you through this whole Advent/Christmas season. Well, I actually think about you quite often, but somehow the holidays always make me a bit more wistful. I imagine my hands interlaced with yours. My tears are closer to spilling over. I take more moments to snuggle into the blanket you made for me a bit more deeply.
Today, I started taking down the Christmas decorations and as I was replacing garland with picture frames, I realized that I did not have a picture of you in my living room. It was never an intentional oversight, but one that sorely stuck out to me today as I placed my With My Grandmother Willow Tree back on the mantel.
You are missing, I thought.
Of course, you are always missing. Although there are these intense moments in which I receive a gift from God -- a whiff of your scent, a stranger on the street that looks like you, a phrase you used to say being passed between two friends -- you are missing from my life. And I feel this loss deeply. Do you know how many times I still long to call you? Even though you have been gone for over a year and a half, I only just recently took you off my speed dial. Do you know that there are certain things that I only really told you? Not because they were any big secret, but because I knew you would understand. I knew you would have just the right thing to say. I knew that even though we were separated by 1,040 miles, somehow you would be able to wrap yourself around my shaking shoulders.
That's the power of a grannie. That was the power of you.
I just want you to know that you were memorable. Your great granddaughters still fill their worlds with your memories. They pour through their scrapbooks and their fingers linger on your picture. Hannah still gets teary-eyed when Selah's song, You Raise Me Up, plays over the radio. Oh, do you know the extent that you were loved? I hope you realize that you left a legacy. A legacy of rich, selfless love. A legacy that I desperately want to pass on, but I fall short.
But you taught me a thing or two about grace and so I've learned to not dwell on my shortcomings but to just press into His heart more deeply. I wish you had more grace for yourself while you walked on this earth. Even though you gave the world everything you had, you never quite thought it was enough. I want you to know that it was. It was enough. You were enough. You taught me that I was unconditionally loved. That is the best gift of all.
I love you.
To read more about my journey through grief, please click here.
Linking with the beautiful Emily for Imperfect Prose.