You

 Your birthday was a week ago. You would have been 88 this year.  I could not stop thinking about you. I thought about the power of your influence in my life - both good and bad. I thought about the essence of what made you - You. I thought about how much spirit some people possess, how they seem bigger than life. What makes it this way? 

On the day of what would have been your 88th birthday, I wondered if you had made it into heaven. Were your Catholic beliefs correct? Was your faith properly placed? If so, is Grandpa with you? Is he okay? Can you tell him that I miss him so much that the pain seems to break me in two sometimes? 

On your birthday, I thought about how I was correct in believing that you were the heart of the family and that Grandpa was its soul. Without either of those entities how can a living thing go on? It won't, I am learning. Instead, what was our family will change and morph into something else, passed down to the next generation or two. I hope that what we build from the foundation you have left behind is something worth working for. 

On the day of your birth eighty-eight years gone by, I thought about your laughter and generosity. I thought about your 4th of July parties and how much fun they were and how the tradition of them became such a part of my life's summers. I thought about how complicated you were. How much you wrestled with internally that I didn't truly start to comprehend until you were battling dementia. I wondered how much of the vitriol you spewed on others was really a reflection of your own internal conflict within. 

On your birthday, I wondered if you ever really felt our love. Did you know the depth of it? Could you allow yourself to feel it? I know that you sometimes felt like you were in Grandpa's shadow, but you were amazing in your own right, could you ever see that? There is no one in the world who will ever be quite like you. Your generosity was unparalleled, and I know of no one who gave so willingly and freely of her resources (except for my own mother). 

I miss you - immensely. I miss your laughter, your smiles, your crooked finger pointing as you tell a story, your Yankees midriff t-shirt. I miss hearing Janis Joplin on the stereo playing while you make dinner - a white or black Russian in a red tinted glass on the counter as you prepare the latest evening meal. I miss hearing you call for me and the nicknames you had for me. I just miss your presence in my life. I would take all of you - even your hard, dark parts - in order to be able to spend time with you again. 

On the 15th of February, I wondered if you were happy. Did you feel whole, complete? Were your wounds, both external and internal, healed? Most importantly, I wondered if you were at peace. 

I don't know that I have the same beliefs as you in terms of what comes after death, if anything at all, but I would like to believe that there is something after this life, even if I am still undecided about it. I would like to believe that the dream I had about you the night after I got back to North Carolina after your funeral was your way of telling me that you were okay. For as long as I live, I will never forget that dream. You looked beautiful and radiated peace and happiness. That dream was one of my favorite dreams of all time. 

I hope you know you are missed - and that your legacy will live on through those left behind to finish our own journeys in this thing call Life. 

I hope we meet again in my dreams. I'll be looking for you...