Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Sister I see you...

...dancing on the stage of memory
Sister I miss you

All I am begins with you
Thoughts of hope, understood
Half of me breathes in you
Thoughts of love remain true
-The Nixons, "Sister"

Missing my Appie today. I can't believe it's been 4 years since we said goodbye. She should be here to see what her great-grandchildren are like. She should be here to give me a reality check when I complain about raising kids in an era of disposable diapers and automatic dishwashers. She should be here to hug me when I need someone who truly loves me the best.

(Appie feeding my brother)

I don't mean this to be a downer of a post, but between the rain and the anniversary of her death, I'm feeling just a bit down. I know I should celebrate her life by writing about all the wonderful things she was to me. The way she'd do something special for your birthday, even if it's a coconut cake that takes 3 days to make. The way she'd stop whatever she was doing if you dropped by to visit. The way her cookie jar was always full. The backyard parties she'd throw. The way her family adored her. All the beautiful, wonderful things she taught us.

But today, I just miss her and wish she was here.

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite games to play with her was "mailbox." We'd write each other notes and leave them in a certain spot on her hearth for the other to find and read. It was just a silly little thing, but it was our thing. For Valentine's Day 2007, I gave her a decorated mailbox with a special secret note inside. She wrote me a special secret note back, but didn't give it to me right away. I got the mailbox a couple of months later - after she had already passed away. I couldn't even open the box for a very long time. Opening the letter took even longer. Mom kept asking why I didn't read it, but I just couldn't. I wish she was here to play mailbox now.

(me & Appie)

My brother, aunt, cousin and I started playing an online Scrabble game last night, and I couldn't help but think how much she'd love it. She was a Scrabble master and would take you down, no holds barred, no guilt, every time. Guess that daily crossword puzzle worked to her advantage. And she was as high-tech as anyone in the grandparent generation, emailing her grands because she understood that meeting us where we already were was the only way to stay in touch. I know she'd be a Facebook/texting/social media rockstar if she were here to see the communication revolution we're going through now. Hell, she'd probably have 10,000 Twitter followers. She'd have loved to play online Scrabble against my brother as he's tapping letters out on his iPhone.

I wish she could see my adorable little boys. She'd laugh at the silly 3 year old-isms that Jay comes up with. She'd get a kick out of Luke's crazy hair. And then she'd be all no-nonsense and would have told me to cut it before it grew to be nearly as ridiculous as I let it get.

(Appie & Papa at my folks' house)

I just miss her.


Sush said...

Ahh Jen...I know...

Annie said...

You will still miss her after thirty-four more years. Believe me, I know how you feel. Some people are just too special and leave us way too soon.
Love you,

Brandi said...

I know it doesn't help with the fact that you miss her, but I'm so jealous about your wonderful, close, extended family! Tell the stories often to Jay and Luke so they know where they came from.

Anonymous said...

She IS right here - in so many ways. Love, AJ

Anonymous said...

I so know how you feel.Don't think there is a day that goes by that I don't miss my Grandmama! Hang in there. I know she is so proud of you!Mary Suzanne

Anonymous said...

I made it through without crying! Miracle upon miracles!
Appie was such a special lady, and I really believe that she DOES see Luke's hair and hear Jay's silly comments. I think she is their guardian angel, with them all the time, keeping them safe from boogie men and cheering them on through surgeries. I wish she was here to play Scrabbler with us too.

Beth said...

You have adopted her no-nonsense approach to mothering like she had, as evidenced not by your having perfect children (like Jay's nekkid streak through the family room after his bath the other night!) but by your consistent, loving setting of boundaries. She would be so proud of what you are doing in the way you are mothering. As if she needed another excuse to be proud of you!

I miss her too. I will never not miss her.