Home > Uncategorized > Dear Mimi.

Dear Mimi.

It’s been a year since you left us peacefully, and still my heart hurts.

The day I got the phone call, I knew. I saw my dad’s number on caller ID and saw what time it was (8:26 a.m., June 22, 2009 ) and wanted to ignore the call. I wanted to do anything to avoid the news. When hit by the news I lay still, waiting for the waves of pain. But they didn’t come then, Mimi. I got up and worked out, let my boyfriend know and went to class. I went to work that evening and pretended I was OK. I joked with my coworkers and ignored the roaring sound in my head. I found a poem I wanted to read at your funeral.

I thought that would make it all OK.

Now a year later, I pray you’re still here. I still carry the angel wings a family member gave me the day of your funeral, and I have to believe that you, my beautiful grandmother, are my angel.

You looked after me when I was a child, and I know that you have to still be looking over my shoulder today, whispering softly that you love me.

I hope you know how much I miss you. I hope you know that, even though I gave the world and my family a different reason for it, I read the poem at your funeral as an apology to you.

An apology for not loving you the way that you loved me: unconditionally. The disease terrified me, Mimi. I was so young and didn’t know how to handle what was happening to your body and your previously sharp mind.

If I could re-do those years (for my sake, selfishly—I would never want you to go through that again) I would smile and blow you a kiss when you looked me at me.

I would hold your hand when we visited.

I wouldn’t focus on the TV instead of you.

I hope you know I miss you. What I remember most about you is cuddling on your lap on the nights I slept over and your and Papa’s house. I felt so safe there. You let me snuggle with you and I loved being wrapped in your arms while Papa told me an Angelina story. I never let anyone else hold me that way when I was young.

I have to make those few memories I have of you strong, because I can’t bear to think of you in any other way.

Mimi, you were the epitome of true beauty. Every person I’ve met who knew you said you were a beautiful person, inside and out. You had the uncanny ability to make other people feel special and you had the most radiant smile. I love looking at old photographs of you. I love my baby pictures and seeing myself wrapped up in your arms.

When I see something beautiful it always me think of you. Maybe you’re part of it—maybe now you’re in the wind, making the trees blow gently. Maybe you’re in the soft rain that patters on my window in Boston, or in the way the sun dapples the grass. On sunny days I stare at the sky and wonder if you’re in the clouds, watching over me. When I feel the wind rushing past my face in West Texas I pretend you’re in the air, giving me a kiss on my cheek as you race by.

When something happens to me, good or bad, I always think of you. Maybe it’s because you stopped knowing me when I was young and immature, sweet Mimi. I want you to know me and be proud of me now. That sounds so selfish, but it’s absolutely true.   

I’m always thinking of you, sweet Mimi.

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  1. Dad
    June 23, 2010 at 1:50 am

    I miss her, too, Katie. It still hurts so much that I can’t describe it. Rest assured that she left this world believing you could do no wrong. No grandmother was ever more proud of a grandchild than she was of you. So don’t ever look back and have regrets of how you treated her once she became sick. That wasn’t the Mimi that you knew any more than she was the mother that I knew in the eight or nine years prior to her death.

    Thanks for the fine tribute to her…nobody could have said it better.

    Love,

    Dad

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