Rest in peace
I’m sorry the last time I saw you I didn’t take extra time to talk with you, I should have made the time instead of being self-important and busy.
I’m sorry you had to go.
When I started writing this, it’s been less than an hour since Andrew texted our group chat letting us know you passed.
I just called him not long ago, he was quiet, withdrawn.
I told him if there was anything he needed, I’d be there.
But there isn’t much that can be done now.
I’ll miss getting to joke with about your grandson in front of him, watching as you two traded insults in jest.
Or talk about how needy and unloved your dog Lilly is as I rub her with my foot.
I’ll miss asking how the Twins and Timberwolves are doing while you sit in your kitchen watching the games.
I’ll miss getting to talk about what’s going on in my life in between coming and going to hang out with Andy.
I’ll miss trying not to wake you as I leave late at night playing games with your grandson.
Your head down, TV on, cigarette in hand—sometimes still lit, but somehow always over the ashtray, Lilly laying down on the counter next to you before hopping up to try and get my attention.
Usually you’d startle awake, but you’d always smile and wish me goodnight before I left.
Every time I walked through your doors I could hear you light up with a warm “Well hi, kid!”
Tears form, realizing I’ll never hear those words again.
I remember coming to visit you in the hospital a few months back.
I told you couldn’t get rid of Andy, Michael and I that easily and you still had to make it to my wedding.
You didn’t make it to the wedding, but I understand.
You needed to rest and reunite with Stanley after being apart for so long.
I wonder now, what Lilly will do without you.
I wonder what will happen to your home.
If you were still here we’d joke about how you wouldn’t be able to trust Andy with either and he’d probably curse us.
We weren’t related, but you treated me and many of those who came through your door like family.
I’ll miss you, Grandma.