"Have fun with it, honey."

I was thinking about you the other day on my drive into work, Gramma. I was thinking how much you would have loved hearing about the job I have now - you would be proud, and above all you would be happy - because I'm really happy.

If I take a deep breath and slow down my racing thoughts, I can hear your voice, still, can hear your laugh that made my heart so happy. I can remember the smell of your hair when you hugged me, the soft skin on your hands when we gripped each other's hands just to be close, to remind each other we were there. I was remembering the little things - the way your hands moved gracefully, with such memory and purpose when you would cook, bake - even long after your own memory started to fail you.

You know how people ask that odd question? That question - if you could speak to one person, living or dead, for 5 minutes - who would it be and what would you say/ask them? 

I'm sure there was a time I would have said a celebrity. Perhaps a musical artist. Most recently, I used to say C.S. Lewis, for his brilliant theological mind. 

But now it would be you. It would be you, Gramma - without question, without hesitation. And I would tell you what you meant to my heart, to my life - because I told you, I did. But I didn't say it enough. 

If God granted me five minutes with you, I tell myself it would be enough to hold me over until eternity, until He sees fit to call me Home. 

I know it wouldn't be, but I like to tell myself that anyway. 

But five minutes...it would only be long enough to hold your hands in mine again - to feel your hand on my face, to hear your voice tell me "you look so good, honey!" 

[Like you always did. Because no matter what kind of a hot-mess-express I was, you always saw the best in me. The beauty behind the awkward, the humor that mirrored yours, the good heart behind the sass and sailor's mouth.]

But then I would need to stop you - to beg you to listen, because by now I probably would have about 4 minutes left. I have a list of about 100 things that I wish I could run by you. Decisions I've made, bridges I've burned, opportunities I turned down, opportunities I took, relationships I had to let go of because they became toxic, because they stripped me of myself.

I just want your wisdom - the wisdom you earned through years of living through heartache, happiness, loss, life, birth, and death - I need that back in my life. 

By the time I finished my spiel we would only have about a minute left, more than likely - because Gramma - I'm a talker, just like you. 
Loud and outspoken. 
You'd be proud of how I speak up and make myself heard. I love loudly, laugh loudly, and I grieve silently, in words, like this. Again, so much like you. 

You brought so much into my life, from the time I was born. Some of my earliest memories are of you, visiting your house - and you visiting ours. You came up the walk with your little wheeled suitcase, your smile, your magic - a purse filled with Extra peppermint gum and  $10 bills that you slipped into our little hands while whispering "Have fun with it, honey." 

And as I write this, I think I know what you would tell me now - if we had that 5 minutes. 

If we had the 5 minutes, you would let me talk - you would listen to my doubts, my confessions, my pain and failures and triumphs - the unfulfilled parts of me that you knew, because you knew ME - and after I stumbled through all that emotion of this earthly life and poured it out like paint on a canvas - I think you would tell me the same thing. About this life.

You'd smile and look at me and squeeze my hand, only you wouldn't be slipping me a $10 bill this time - you'd be giving me the secret to a contented life.

"Have fun with it, honey."

"But this life isn't what I planned on-"

"Have fun with it, honey." 

"I wanted something so different for myself, and I think I messed up-"

"Have fun with it, honey!" 

By now the 5 minutes would be up. You'd kiss my cheek. You'd hug me, and I'd squeeze your hand and I wouldn't want to let you go. 
I never did. 
I wasn't ready. 
Saying goodbye to you once nearly tore from my heart from my chest, Rosie.
I couldn't do it again - so I should be grateful that the next time I see you, I won't have to say goodbye. 

But parts of you are still here, living in your children, your grandchildren, and your great-grandchildren. They must be, because sometimes I see you looking back at me in the mirror. I see you in Noa's smile. I see you in Hannah's - well, pretty much everything with Hannah - because it turns out that your Hannah Morgan is your clone. 

I still feel you with me, in a way I didn't know was possible when reaching from this earthly life into the heavenly one. And I remember what you told me, the wisdom you imparted, the love you wrapped us in, the magic you sprinkled over our childhoods. 

And I promise you Rosie, in your honor, I'm trying. 
I'm trying to have fun with it. 
With this wild, beautiful, heart-changing thing called life. 
I'm trying to make the most of every trip around the sun that God gives me.

I love you. And thank you for everything. I could never say it enough. 

xoxo
E