Dear Grandmother,

You’ve been gone eleven years {eleven years!!! I had to count twice, then looked up a picture of your gravestone to make myself believe it}. I guess that’s right. But today doesn’t mark the day of your passing, it is your birthday. No, I didn’t forget. I just haven’t slowed down long enough today string words together in remembrance. I woke up, and it was Pearl Harbor Day, which equates to your birthday. Pearl Harbor day didn’t really resonate with me until a few years ago, when I was having a conversation with a young adult who didn’t have much to remember about 9/11. And that floored me. I couldn’t believe that it was possible to be alive and not recount the horror of that day in full detail.

I digress.

It’s a clear night, the moon is half full, and it’s cold enough to see my breath. You’d like it.

I have so much to tell you, everything has changed since you’ve been gone. But you know, you haunted me for awhile. Why’d you quit, anyway? I knew it was you the whole time. I guess you moved on because it quit being fun.

How do you like the new floors? I’m certain you hate the yellow wall. And probably my painting, too. It’s too abstract for your taste, I know that.

I still don’t like kids, and I’m thankful I never had any. I don’t know who I would have drowned first, them or me.

I went to a talk about the history of Boyds Creek last week, you would have enjoyed it.

Fake eyelashes are back in style. I have no intention of wearing them.

I haven’t broke but one bushel of green beans since you’ve been gone. I almost miss it. Almost. The only thing I canned was strawberry jam, and it came out way too sweet and runny. So I just buy Smuckers.

I still won’t touch Jack Daniels with a ten-foot pole but I’m pretty good at drinking beer. I watch it, though. I’m too fat, I can hear you telling me to do something about it.

I occasionally get a whiff of you, your perfume, your cigarettes. I’m not sure if it’s a memory or if some remote corner of somewhere got stirred up.

I don’t carry your .38 now, but I still have it. I upgraded to a 9mm. Bigger hole, longer range 🙂 And let me say, I totally understand why you shot at your ex-husband when he came by for a “chat”. I’m only surprised you aimed low intentionally. That’s some willpower.

There’s a dog in the house now, I bet you hate that. How’s Crockett? I miss him a lot.

I work for the government now, I’m not sure how you’d feel about that. My job isn’t political, I just help farmers, like I always tried to. Gary Hicks is one of my overseers. Is Uncle Bill allowed to call you Fat Willie there? Tell him he can float me some five-dollar bills down any time. That goes for you, too. Just because I’m 40 doesn’t mean I’m too good for small bills. They spend, too. Although My Little Ponies cost more than that these days. I think of you anytime someone mentions Cas Walker. I also think of you when somebody says they can’t stand to watch Reba McEntire sing.

I still can’t play the guitar, and I don’t care a fig for it. The radio works just fine. I did try to resurrect my clogging skills, they have long since departed. But I bought a pair of red shoes to have on hand just in case I get a wild hair to practice a lot.

You’ll be pleased to know I gave up horses altogether. Too much work and much too expensive. And, admittedly, the ones I prefer are a bit dangerous.

Mamaw & Pap’s old house is coming right along. I think it’s gonna look great when they get done.

I don’t visit your grave, I hope you don’t mind. Mom keeps you in some very nice seasonal decorations. Oh! The best news is Alabama won’t be going to the National Championship this year! LSU and Auburn kicked their ass and it was wonderful. The Cowboys are holding their own, I hated to see them lose to the Patriots a couple of weeks ago. Peyton is doing commercials now, and he cracks everybody up. I love him so hard. What a class act.

I’m still a voracious reader, and serving on the Regional Library Board has come to break my heart after only one meeting. It’s funny how my life is already coming full circle in so many aspects.

It’s the witching hour, and you always said nothin’ good happened after midnight, so I’m gonna wash my face and go to bed. I hope you’re proud of me at least part of the time. I do the best I can…I do the best I can FOR ME…which some will call selfish. And I guess that’s true, too. You taught me how to be a strong, confident woman who doesn’t take crap from anybody. I sure am proud of you. The older I get, the more appreciative I am of what you endured.

Love,

Amy

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