Dear Grandma,

I thought a lot about you today. Tomorrow would have been your anniversary. I miss curling up next to you in your bed, a plastic bucket full of sugar free candies next to your bed, how I hated the little white mints, and the box of ribbons you always saved. I remember the familiar and comforting sound of your talker and Carrie Underwood music in the background. I can recall your smile, the color of your faded brown hair and the sparkle of your blue eyes. You had been sick since before I was born, adult onset diabetes, breast cancer, lung cancer, losing your voice box, and the list goes on and on. But to me you were the image of indestructibility. Yes, the sickest person I ever met what my image of strength. You never complained or let that smile drift from your face for an instant. Every moment of life was a moment of joy at being alive. Everyone tells me it’s a miracle you made it to my Confirmation, that the last six years we had was stolen time. No doctor ever imagined you'd live, on sheer will to live alone sometimes. But no matter how many hospital trips, I always assumed you'd come home. Just to be safe, I always made sure to tell you I loved you before I left your house, in case it was the last time. They didn't let me say I love you the last time though Grandma. They told me you had just gotten home from the hospital and needed your sleep, and I'd see you tomorrow. I tried to slip away and kiss your hand, but they made me go. So I waved to you, though you didn't see it. All those years of making sure to say I love you and goodbye and I'm still robbed of the chance. It is one of my greatest regrets. Then Mom and Dad got that phone call late Sunday night. You were fading fast. They wouldn't let me come, wouldn't let me see you that last time. I was so angry. Then they called the priest. From what I'm told Grandma, you where laughing and joking the whole time. Smiling and kidding around, like it was perfectly normal. They say you drifted to sleep and simply crossed over in the midst of your dreams. I cried for a week straight, and reading the Bible passage at your funeral was the hardest thing I've ever done. They gave me your favorite ring, the jade ring with the gold setting. I haven't taken it off. Even in gym I'd tie it to the string loop on my gym pants. A couple months or so ago, they gave me another ring. Purple tanzanite set in silver. "She bought it for you ages ago. She set it aside to give to you on your birthday." I cried again. I cried like my heart was broken at the loss of my best friend, at the dreams we bought knew could never be yet we dreamed anyway, and the countless trips to Wal-Mart for the strangest things. Even today, I hold you as my example of strength, of love, of power. You took refugees into your home multiple times, you never blamed God for the terrible things that happened, but praised Him every single day. You never lost your faith in Jesus or in love. You are my hero. My mentor. My guiding light and guardian angel. The sky is a little bit bright with you in it. The hardest part was, even if I could call you back, I wouldn't. You could run and jump and swim and collect all the mica rocks in the world now. You'd be with your friends and parents and sisters, you'd be happy. It doesn't mean I don't still miss you, or cry sometimes from the heartache, but I know your happy and safe Grandma. So keep me in your prayers, and when we're together again, we can explore every inch of Heaven forever.

All my love,

Your Granddaughter.