She says I remind her of her sister, Shelby, that passed away some time ago. Shelby was her little sister, that assumed the role of her big sister. If I am simply able to provide her with the memory of her sister and a little serenity to soothe her final days, it will be nothing in comparison to what she has granted me.
The first time it became evident that I would not always have her around, I began saving her letters. I have more than I can count. Some with little dried flowers spilling out, and others just a little note or card to remind me of her constant presence. Even so, I haven’t planned on losing her, and I won’t. I know she’ll never part from me. I’m not ready now, and I never will be. I don’t, can’t, won’t, and refuse to need things and or people. But I need her. I won’t make it without her. She thinks I am so strong, like Shelby, but I’m not, I’m only strong only for her, because of her.
Her faith in God.
Her faith in me.
She loves me, and not because she has to or is supposed to. She just does. I know it, believe it, and feel it. She doesn’t worry about me, but she is “concerned”. We have spent the better part of my existence on this earth trying to protect each other from each other. Hiding pains, brushing trauma off as nothing, and changing the subject. She makes me madder than hell when she hurts, and yes, worries. I try to change her, as if a woman her age is up for change. She doesn’t try to change me, she lets me grow, learn, and explore all the while instilling her faith in me, as if I can do no wrong. I think its because she has lived and she “gets it”. She knows that even though we all teeter on a dangerous edge, life is still pliable and forgiving, just as her God is.
We make jokes and laugh, and she gets my humor. I get hers too. We give each other the scoop on our heartache caused my the men in our lives, and we both agree that most men are fairly worthless in all aspects. An afternoon in the a quite room with some nail polish and a good book is our idea of heaven. Our conversations for some odd reason always lead to food, and our cravings are usually the only reason we actually end the conversation. We’re both inflicted with the nuisance of psoriasis. She feels bad like its her fault that I have it. We trade prescriptions, and complaints. I never thought an annoying disease could be so pleasurable.
I absolutely positively believe that in some other realm or lifetime, we were best friends. The kind you decide is family, and not just family, but favorite family. In some other lifetime our soles intertwined and would not separate for the next lifetime. Our reward is what we share today. This I believe. She’s my only Grammy, my best friend, and I am her only granddaughter.
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