My mom texted me this evening and asked if I remembered that today would have been my granny's birthday. Sadly, I hadn't.
My granny passed away several years ago and her death was the first time I'd truly understood the phrase, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."
She was the kindest person I think I've ever known. Soft spoken with blue eyes that conveyed emotion--whether sparkling behind a chuckle or welled up with sadness.
I remember the way her heavy blankets felt on my body when I spent the night at her house as a child. I remember how the tinsel star on her Christmas tree sparkled. I rarely eat a slice of pizza without thinking of the many times she told the story about her and a friend picking up a pizza once and hungrily devouring almost all of it before realizing it had anchovies on it. I think of her when I walk through a misty rain as she liked to do. When I visit my parents' house, I close the window shade that faces the direction of where her house was because the memory of her walking that old path from her place to ours is so burned into my mind that I fear I'll see her still walking it.
There are a million ways I would change the way I treated her in life. I can only hope now that somehow she knows that love her, respect her, and admire her. A very big part of me wishes I could have her back. I wish she could hold my babies and sing "You Are My Sunshine" to them. But I know that she must be happy where she is--with Jesus. She's pain-free and tears never touch her eyes anymore. I'm guessing she's so happy there that she forgot her old birthday as well.
I'm certain the impression she made on me will last my life, through, however. Happy Birthday, Granny.