Daily Prompt: Audience of One
Grama and Grampa:
I catch my eyes staring at the date on the top of my cell phone. Gears start shifting in my brain. Slowly at first, then ramping up to high speed–turning so fast like the child who pedaled her bicycle too fast and can no longer keep her feet on the pedals–calculating the amount of time you’ve been gone. With every accomplishment I’ve made, every failure I’ve learned from, every step I’ve walked, I’ve wished you were here.
I’m more candid and uncensored now than I was back in 2005. I was a child. Sheltered. Naive. I’ve become a grown up. Or at least pretend to be. What does “being an adult” even mean? You would know. I would ask you, and you would tell me. I vote, pay my taxes and have my own insurance. That counts right? I wish you could read my blog. I could only hope that you’d be proud. You’d always sit and listen to my juvenile stories and smiled as I read them. Reading them over now, I shake my head and laugh at how awful the words incoherently fit together.
I miss you both being here. I miss the way you always had Oreos waiting for me when I came over. Holidays don’t make as much sense now that you’re gone. Easter comes and goes without the warm Florida breezes and chameleon chasing around the house. The Thanksgiving deviled eggs will never be as good as yours. These Christmas lights fade into the concrete jungle I live in. Meaningless. Colorless.
I just hope that somehow, someway, maybe in another life, that I will be able to see you again.
With all my love,