LONGEST DAY OF MY LIFE

Today, we buried my grandmother. During the viewing, before the service, I had the opportunity to sit and reflect. I kept finding myself looking back in my mind always sitting next to her on the couch and listening to her. She would tell me all the family dirt, she'd give me advice, she'd tell me she was proud, she would always have a kiss and a hug for me. These were all constants from the time I could climb up on the couch next to her. I'd always sit to her left. I'd always have a soda, and I'd always sit waiting, eagerly, to hear what she had to say (unless, of course, talk turned to me wanting to be lawyer). There will never be another grandmom in my life. There will never be one like her for me to sit and listen to. I'll never taste her Christmas cookies again and I'll never be able to listen to her laugh, or listen to her whistle, or hear her sing Scottish ditties. I'll never feel her soft hands hold mine, or feel her kiss on my cheek. This is what I thought of today as we buried my grandmother.

Of great comfort to me today were those that told me how proud my grandmom was of me and that they knew how close I was with my grandmom. That meant a lot to me.

I realize today is about my grandmother and not about me, and I hope I don't come across as too self-absorbed. There was love wrapped into all of those things my grandmom and I did together and I wanted to share them.