Asher cut three teeth in ten days. That's the first thing I'd like to tell Granny, if I could.
The coat she bought for Asher's birthday fits just fine. The little blue fleece lining is cute, and he tolerates the hood surprisingly well. That would be next.
And how I made her cinnamon rolls for Christmas, and they turned out pretty well, all things considered. How Asher played in the laundry so that I could finish kneading the dough; that would make her laugh.
He still points to her picture and asks about her, in the way that he knows how. We still talk about how much Granny loves him.
She would want to hear all of our stories. She would laugh and tell me how Linda Joyce cut all of her teeth in six months, boy and how. She would put a wallet of Asher and his dad playing guitar on her night stand.
Oddly, I haven't grieved over Granny. I saw her nearly every week that we lived in the same area for the past ten years, and aside from a teary graveside service, I never cried. I just miss her. There are a dozen things I want to tell her and can't. And though our family is moving forward, someone is still missing from the dinner table. Today Granny has been on my mind.