|My Grandmother Alice, right, and her sister, Caroline|
You were the sweetest grandmother. Although I only had the chance to spend the first few years of my life knowing you, I still have a few memories that are golden- things like you playing with wooden puzzles with me on your living room floor, or coloring with me at your kitchen table while the adults talked away. I've never heard anyone say a bad thing about you, but had lots of cute stories, like Dad telling me you would always ask him if he wanted a slice of pie, cutting him a whole fourth of it. After your stroke, we would come and visit you often, and though you couldn't speak then, I still knew we were both glad to see each other. I remember when you passed away that April day. It was the first time anyone close to me had died. Even then, I wished we had more time. I was glad I was the oldest in our family, and could remember things my brothers would never know.
You were the first grandparent to leave this earth, and the rest have followed you since then. Sometimes I think about all of them, but you most of all. You didn't get to see me grow very tall, or even have the chance to play with my brothers the way you did with me. I wonder if you can see us down here, or if you're happily obvious to earthly things now. But mostly, I wonder what you'd think if you did.
I wish I could introduce you to Millie. You'd make such a lovely great-grandmother to her. I'm sure, if you were here today and 90 years old, you'd still try those same puzzles with her. I wonder if you'd be sad that Dad and Mom didn't stay together. I wonder if you'd still live in the next town over, in the brick house you raised Dad in, with the flowers bordering the driveway I rode my tricycle around on. I wonder if you'd still be friends with your next door neighbor, who still sends me Christmas cards to this day.
Maybe you can take a peak at us every now and then, and already know all these things. But if not, I can't wait to sit at the kitchen table with you again, doodling and catching up with life since you left.