granny.

i never knew her as anything else. some have called her mother, sister, co-worker, or friend but i knew her as granny. the name strikes me as ill-fitting now. actually, i always thought that when i mentioned my granny to friends outside of family that i needed to follow up with a clarifying statement because my granny was indeed not the granny i visualize when i hear that word. usually i picture a sweet, little old lady sitting in a rocking chair with her glasses perched on the edge of her nose while she knits. i'm not sure what she is knitting, but in my mind a granny always knits. my granny. she didn't sit in a rocking chair. she didn't wear her glasses perched on the end of her nose. she didn't wear her gray hair in a bun on the top of her head. and she definitely did not knit. i would have loved if she did any of those things, because it would have been her. but my granny. my granny was fierce. fiercely independent and fiercely tenacious.

i called my son "sweetheart" the other day and the emotions swept over me like an unexpected thunderstorm.  i remembered how she would answer the phone and say, "hello, sweetheart!".  i remembered all of the times she told me she loved me followed by the same name.  i cried for missing her.  my world is a little lonelier without her.