It seems that both too much and too little time has gone by.
I ache to hear her voice again...I am breathless with the thought of hugging her and feeling her soft white hair against my cheek...to feel her warm hands in mine...to hear her infectious laughter. The pain is still fresh, but the loneliness stretches on.
Today is the anniversary of the day she went away, and still I miss her. Those few days leading up to her death are so vivid in my mind. I was newly engaged and so upset that she wasn't going to be there to watch me walk down the aisle. And when I first saw her in the hospital, I was struck at how frail she seemed and how much she didn't look like my Grandma.
But her hands...her hands remained the same. They were still gnarled with age and each wrinkle told the story of a child consoled or a meal prepared. As I sat there alone with her, silently crying, I slipped off my engagement ring and placed it on her hand for just a moment.
I can't tell you the exact reasons behind my actions, except that I needed her to be connected to me...to my new life. I needed to have her touch something that would be so important to me in my future. I needed her to know that I was happy and in love...and that she had taught me well.
I've said it before, but I'm at peace with the fact that the woman who was so sick in the hospital is gone...but I may never be completely okay that Grandma is gone. I do know that the memory of my new engagement ring on her love-worn hands will stay with me forever... because, trust me, it looked better on her.
