i remember you

Dear Oma,

It was six years ago today that you died. I miss you. I still cry for you. I though you would want to know that. I miss so much about you. Our chat’s on the phone. Tuna sandwiches. Crepes fried in waaaaay too much Crisco, smothered in jam. Watching you knit. I started knitting, Oma. T’s Mom taugh me last fall in the German way. I know you tried to teach me when I was younger but I wasn’t interested then. I love it now. I make beautiful things just like you did. Do you know that I have a box downstairs full of things that you knit for me? I just wish I still had those brutal leg warmers you made me one year for Christmas. L and I laughed and laughed over them but we loved that you tried to make us something cool. It was the 80’s, afterall! I wish you could teach me how to cable and do intarsia. It is hard to learn on my own. You would have been patient.

One of the things I am most disappointed about is that you never met my kids. You would just love them. My N has a big wide smile and he throws his head back when he laughs. He would love to visit your apartment, go swimming in the pool and feel you slip a loonie in his hand to buy a treat “downstairs”. He likes Reeses Peanut Butter Cups too. He has a generous heart and is a thinker like his Dad. He used to be really shy but he is getting more and more confident. You should see him tearing around our street on his “big boy bike with no training wheels not even one”! He reminds me of M sometimes. There is something in his face that looks like him. He is a special boy. I know you would have agreed.

And then there is my beautiful daughter. G is trouble Oma, just like I was! You can’t help but love her. I think you would say that she is “cheeky like her Mother”! When G was born, I kept my promise to you. Her middle name is Elisabeth, spelt for you. She has pretty blue eyes and messy blonde hair that she is constantly sweeping out of her eyes. She looks so much like Mom. It’s nice to have a little glimps of my Mom everyday when I am so far away from her. G is funny and spunky and very smart. She has big emotions. Big happy, big sad, big mad, all in the course of 5 minutes. Sound familiar? She hates wearing socks. I told her the other day that my Oma would have gotten after her for not keeping her feet warm! You always used to drive us crazy about wearing slippers. I’d love to hear you nag me again. My fond hope is that you have gotten a look at my kids from Heaven.

My girlfriend told me last night that her Grandma is dying and that her children have decided not to tell her. They have instructed the doctors and nurses not to tell her either. Isn’t that devestatingly sad? I was thinking about your death last night. You knew you were dying and you did it with such dignity and grace, especially once you accepted my parents help. Some of my most precious memories come from our chats after you knew your cancer was terminal. You weren’t always very open or emotionally honest but in the end you were so real and authentic. Your death touched so many people. Thank you for the words you spoke to me. I remember everything you said. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to say goodbye and to not have a single regret in our relationship. I got to be with you when you let go of this life and met your Creator. Thank you for waiting for me to get home so we could say goodbye. I can’t wait to see you again one day.

Ich werde immer Sie und lieben, den ich nie aufhören werde, Sie zu verpassen.

Rachel

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