Gram.

I miss her.

It's been twelve years and I still miss her. I might even miss her more.

I miss her apple pie.
And her fashion sense.
(She wasn't afraid to get dirty and she had plenty of work clothes, but oh could she dress up.)

I miss the warmth of her hand -- hands that worked hard and showed it, yet still had a softness -- and the way she'd squeeze my fingers.

I miss her smile.
And her soprano singing voice, hitting every high note in "How Great Thou Art."

I miss her ridiculous "threats" when we'd get on her last nerve and she'd toss us out into the yard to get us out of her hair.

I miss the way she called me her Sweet Bug.
And that she'd never hang up the phone without telling me she loved me.

I miss long chats and her Sunday dinners and that she always had room for me in her home.

I will never not miss her. But I am grateful I was born into her family. That I had the gift of so much time growing up in her house. That I have a wealth of memories and photos to warm my heart. What a blessing she was to this world.

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