I didn't do anything out of the ordinary to mark the day. It was beautiful and sunny out, the kind of day MomMom would have adored. I tried to felt some yarn for mine and Jennifer's DragonCon costumes, but my felting mojo was a bit out of whack. I ate too much ice cream and watched two of my favorite movies---Pitch Perfect and Practical Magic---just because I could. The sky outside was turning indigo before I finally told Robby what today marked. He reached out across the space between us and held my hand. I squeezed his fingers until I could compose myself enough to make a joke, to lift the heaviness that had settled over our weekend's end.
I miss the sound of her voice on my telephone. I miss seeing her handwriting on envelopes in my mailbox. I miss the smell of her perfume. I miss knowing that I can drive a span of hours and be enveloped in her embrace at the end of the journey.
The only thing at the end of that drive now would be a quiet grave site surrounded by trees and wind and the sky.
I've learned how to navigate a world without her in it. It hasn't been easy. Sometimes I try to channel her goodness of heart, her generous spirit. I fail more often than succeed. I'll keep trying.
My friend Pam once told me that when you lose someone so dear, a hole develops in your life. The hole never goes away; it's never filled. You just learn to live with it, build yourself around it. It becomes part of you. Sometimes I imagine that hole left by my grandmother's death as a clearing in the woods. The trees around the clearing are tall and whisper when the wind flutters the leaves. Lily of the valley blooms in the shade like clusters of pearls. Queen Anne's Lace bends and sways to the quiet calls of mourning doves. There is no pain or sadness, no despair or grief. Only peace and the hush of the listening green.
It's been five years since my grandmother breathed her last and left this life.
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