Sick Of Goodbyes

Note: I started this post a week ago, but didn't have the fortitude to finish it at that time.

Hey Granny,

I know your last request was to not have the news of your death plastered on Facebook, so I’m going to write this on my blog and I hope you won’t come back and kick my ass for it.

I’m not sure how our family will go on now that you’re gone. You were the glue that held us together. You were the one who would get on to your grown assed children for being dumb. Even when you had to have oxygen, you still had your say. It was admirable, and I laugh at the memories of you telling everyone what’s what. Hell, even at the end, you didn’t let Death take you until you were ready. I hope I’m that strong when my time comes.

I’m sort of rambling, but I can feel the tears welling up again. So many memories are flooding my mind right now. It’s pretty overwhelming. I remember….

….the days when you used to babysit all of us grandkids. We’d get yelled at for touching the roses you grew and babied. They were so beautiful though, that we just couldn’t leave them alone.

….the nights when I would be over while my parents went out. You would feed me a snack, usually a flour tortilla with butter. Then we would hang out in Grandpa’s room and you would fix my hair and explain the novelas to me, since I couldn’t speak Spanish.

….the times we would walk down to the corner store and you would buy me Mexican candies and whatever else. I loved those walks.

….the night my sister was born, you watched me and waited up with me because we couldn’t sleep. When the call finally came in that she was here, safe and sound, we both had big smiles on our faces.

….all the Christmas Eves spent at your house with the family. Those are some of the best childhood memories I have. You always had something for all of the grandkids, and I truly treasured everything you gave me, no matter what it was. You would yell at us to eat more food, because you weren’t satisfied until we had bursting stomachs. I know I got my love of cooking from you. I only hope I can replicate your Spanish rice.

There are so many other memories that I can’t write about at this moment. They are too precious to me, and I’m still overly emotional.

I have a picture of you hanging on my wall. Seeing your face each day hurts like hell, because I know that this will be the only way I’ll see you from now on. No more will I be able to come back to California and escape to your house for the peace that your presence brought me. I know I didn’t see you nearly enough, but those few moments that I spent with you were better for me than any care a psychologist could provide.

I’m going to close this letter now, because I can feel a massive lump in my throat.

I love you, Granny. I wish I had one more chance to tell you that and give you a kiss on your beautiful gray head.

-Jessica