Grandma.

Dear God,

Please don’t take her yet. I’m not ready to let her go. What did she think of before this happened? What did her note mean?

Please.

Release.

Me.

I don’t even know what to write. She was the first one to put lipstick on me. She hid the tick tacs from me as well because she was afraid I would choke on them. I always knew that they were below the seat in the car. But I always went along with pretending that I didn’t know. She gave me chocolates instead.

That was an excuse for her to have chocolate, too.

She always said that I was the one most like her in so many ways.

We worry constantly. I don’t know if she realized that we had this commonality. I’m too much like my dad to externalize anything…

We like cottage cheese instead of dressing on our salad…

We love chocolate…

We cry easily. Everytime she’d hug me goodbye, I would ask her not to cry because then I would, too. Regardless, she always would as would I.

She always asked me to call her, and I would. Every other week. We would talk about life.

At the end of every conversation…"Grandma loves you."

And I loved her too.

She did so much for me growing up. She always wanted to give, give, give. Things bought in the store. She didn’t realize that what mattered the most were things she didn’t have to buy. She gave those too. In abundance.

I played dress up with her beads. I was a waitress in her living room, serving her make believe food off of old dishes. I was a conductor when I played with the trains in her house.

I danced wearing scarves around the living room, listening to 8 tracks, swinging in circles…

I knew I wasn’t the favorite. That was the oldest. But I knew I was loved.

Please don’t take her yet, God. She’s needed here. I don’t think I would stand to not see her again. To not talk with her again. I can’t stand to see Dad loose his mom and dad in the same year.

Please let her stay.