This past weekend I babysat your two youngest grandchildren. It’s funny, the anniversary of your death passed just a few short weeks ago and I thought about you that day but from a distant place. This weekend my heart ached for you.
If you were alive it would have been you babysitting. But, of course it, wasn’t.
You would have soaked in the smell of these little lovelies. As you held baby Sam and shushed him off to sleep you would have nuzzled his neck just like I did and smiled secretly at his baby smell.
You would have splashed in the water with Emma at the park. Chasing her chubby little girl body just like I did and then stopped in a fit of tickles and giggles when you caught her. You would have oohed and ahhed at her climbing and cheered at her creative dancing.
And you would have held those babies when they cried in that special Gramma way that fixes every booboo. You would have patiently dealt with crocodile tears induced by a big sister. And you would have watched proudly and lovingly as my daughter, the Big Girl, played and cared for her two baby cousins.
You would have been there. You should have been there. And they should have known you and grown up with you. And you should have known them.
This weekend there was a great big gaping hole where you should have been.
You are so missed.