Grief

 I lost my Grandma this week. And it doesn't matter how many times I remember that she isn't in pain anymore, or that it is easier for her to breathe now, it just hurts. Heart clenching, soul squishing hurt. 

I love to call her "Tiny" because truly, she was a tiny, feisty, fiery human being. She loved with her whole soul. And she wasn't afraid to tell you what she thought. 

I am lucky enough that my middle name is her name. She would always tell me that she hated her name, and felt bad that we shared it, but I truly cherish that I get to carry a part of her with me every day. I hope I am making her proud of our name, even if she didn't like it.

It's hard to think of life without her. Of Christmases without her playing carols on our piano, birthdays without her shaky cursive in my birthday cards. Of fireworks shows without offroading her wheelchair to just the right spot. Hard to know that she isn't just a ten-minute walk away from home anymore. There won't be any more late nights talking with Tiny, the night owl, any more secret birthday ice cream runs to Arctic Circle. 

We used to make Valentine's day cookies together. They were, I think, supposed to be sugar cookies, but we rolled them out in so much flour that they were never very sweet. We mixed chocolate dough and plain dough, cut out the hearts, and layered the cookies so that they looked just right. I can never think of sugar cookies without thinking of Tiny and all of those February's in the kitchen. 

She would come hand candy out at our house on Halloween while we went trick or treating. We would paint pumpkins together, make "rice krispy ghosts" - which was really just an excuse to stuff as many chocolate chips as you could into a rice krispy blob before it hardened. Bobbing for apples, playing pin the tail on the cat - she would take any holiday and turn it into a party. The best part? She always, always wore the same witch costume. 

Tiny used to say that no matter how tall we got, she would always be able to step on our toes. I think I get some of my determination from her. I know I get my wavy hair from her. My curves. My fierce support of those close to me. 

Tiny tried to teach me how to play the piano - I tried, I really did, but it was more fun to just sit and chat than it was to try to read music and remember where the keys were. Somehow, I don't think she minded. I can't see a piano or organ and not think of her - of the time she spent developing her talent and sharing her love of music. I also, still, can't play the piano, though not for lack of trying on her part. 

I don't like grief. I don't like this heartache, this sorrow. The moments where you're fine and the moments where you can't do anything but cry. I just want to remember the good.