Two Weeks Ago Today...

The days all blur together in a haze of grief.  When Dad passed away, Grandma, you were my rock.  You were my person I could cry to and my person who soothed me and whose voice wrapped my in the very best hug no matter how far away I was from you.  But now that you're gone, you can't be that person to me.  I can't call you when I'm upset and feel like I'm breaking down, just to hear your voice because somehow your voice fixed everything.  "Darling I love you" made it better.  But now I don't have that.  And the days all blur together.  I had originally written "one week ago" because this past week doesn't feel like it was real.  Because "two weeks ago" seems too long to have been the last time I should have called you.

Two weeks ago today, I should have called you.  Not for anything important, but just because it was Wednesday and I would call you on Mondays and Wednesdays.  Not to talk about anything important, but just to talk to you because I missed you.  Just to hear your voice, honestly.  I'd call you as I was leaving work, sometime between 5 on the dot and about 5:06.  Eight times out of ten you'd answer with "Hi Jake!" because I'm working for a State Farm agent.  Then there'd be the times that Pop would answer and we'd talk briefly, usually about the weather or some upcoming plan of his or someone he ran into at Walmart, and then I'd ask "is Grandma there?" after maybe 3 minutes of conversation.  Or even rarer still, the times no one would answer, and your answering machine would tell me - in your voice - "you've reached (phone number), leave a message and we'll get back to you" and I'd tell the machine "Hey Grandma, it's your favorite grandkid.  Nothing important, just walking home from work and wanted to talk.  Talk to you later, I love you!"

Always an "I love you."  On the answering machine or directly to you or in a text message.  Always an "I love you."  Because the last time I ever talked to Dad, we argued and I didn't say "I love you" and I never got to say it to him again.  At least not ever where he could respond to me.  And I can't, can't, can't let that happen again.  No matter what, there's always an "I love you" because it's important to me.

Two weeks ago today...

… I should have called you and complained about some random customer getting on my last nerve ("So this old lady starts off complaining about not getting any discounts and I start going over the discounts that she is getting - Grandma, like this lady is legit getting like $400 worth of discounts. Like her premium is only like $500 for the 6 month period and if she wasn't getting any discount it'd be closer to like $900!  Ok and then like out of literally nowhere she starts complaining about student debt forgiveness?? Like literally Grandma, she goes 'it took me 16 years to get my 4 year degree because I worked full time and they want to use my tax dollars to forgive the debt of these lazy teenagers who would rather smoke dope than work one single day in their lives' Oh my godddd Grandma, I wanted to scream, I swear.") and you'd laugh and say "Some people, darling. If you didn't snap at her, you handled it better than I would".  

… I should have called you and said "Can you believe Silvia is going to be TWELVE in a week?! Grandma, June first, my niece is going to be 12!! I'll have been her aunt for 10 years.  That's so mind-blowing. Oh my god, who said she could grow up??" and you'd laugh and say "imagine how I feel! My Froggy is going to be 31 this year!"

… I should have called you and said "Sara sent me the cutest picture of Renley! He's so freaking cute." And you would have said "he is!! My first great-grandbaby.  I still can't believe I'm a great grandmother!" and I would have laughed and said "you've always been a great grandmother!" because as a child I didn't understand and I thought you were the best grandma in the entire world so I would tell people that you were my great grandma.

… I should have called you and told you some funny story about the cats and you would have laughed and told me a funny story about your cats in response.

… I should have called you just to hear your voice.  Just to tell you I loved you.  Just to tell you I missed you.

But I didn't.

Because two weeks ago today, a customer called at 4:56, four minutes to closing time, and I vaguely recognized the caller ID and thought he was going to have a question on his homeowner's policy, but instead he wanted a car insurance quote and - first off, who calls four minutes before closing wanting a quote? Everyone knows you don't bother the employees at a business if it's less than 10 minutes to close unless it is an absolute emergency, and an auto insurance quote does not constitute an emergency.  (I should have called and ranted about that).  But it was close to the end of the month and I was hoping for a little commission.  An extra 20 minutes of work would be worth the money I'd make on him.

Ashley picked me up from work because it was nearly a half hour after closing, and we had plans.  We'd ordered pizza and were meeting up with our friends because it was nice enough to hang out outside, and it's Florida and nearly summer so we won't get too many more nights where my friends agree that "outside" is the better place to be.  I thought on the car ride to get the pizza that I should call you, but by that time I didn't want to interrupt dinner.  I thought on Saturday, I'll call on Sunday on my way home from cleaning the office in the morning.  I thought, no, what if she has plans?

I thought, I'll call Monday.  I'll call Monday after work, and you'll answer and you won't say "hi Jake", you'll just say "hello?" because it had been a week and you'd act like it had been forever.  I'd say "Hi Grandma! Whatcha doing?" and you'd say "Oh I'm just sitting here, what are you doing?" and I'd start to say "walking home from work," and you would say it at the same time as me. Jinx.  You'd tell me it's been "too long since you've called, I almost forgot what your voice sounded like!" and I'd tell you "the phone works two ways, Grandma." And you'd say "I know, but I don't want to bother you.  I don't know if you're working late or if you're with your friends" and I'd tell you that your phone calls could never bother me and you'd say you know, but we both know that calling is always going to be my thing.

I thought, I'll call Monday, it'll be fine.

But then Monday never came.  I mean, technically it did.  I can hear you now in my head, telling me that of course Monday still came. Say what you mean.  Monday never came for you.  Monday came for me, waking up in a hotel room half way up on the drive to New York with Nikki and Ashley.  Monday came with me afraid to open my eyes because as much as I wanted to open my eyes and be in my apartment with Ashley and the cats and say "oh my god I had the most terrible dream", I knew that wasn't the case.  Monday came with me waking up at 5:18 in the morning and feeling like "that's a sign, I need to wake everyone up and we need to get back on the road".  Monday came with tears the second I woke up, tears in the car, tears when we got to my mom and stepdad's house and I hugged my mom, tears when I hugged Cece, trying to blink back tears taking snapchat filter selfie's with Cece's daughter, tears alone with Ashley in the bedroom as we got ready to sleep, tears as I sat on mom and Pete’s back deck texting Cece that night wishing her girls could have met you, tears as I lay in bed wishing for sleep to hurry up and make its appearance.

That entire New York trip feels like a dream.  It doesn't feel real.  It went by so fast and honestly I was just on auto-pilot for so much of it.  I loved seeing everyone, don't get me wrong.  I loved spending time with everyone.  I loved our little hike, and I loved going to Hudson's Pride flag raising ceremony, and the family lunch we had together on Friday.  But it passed by in a fog and I still can't quite get a grip on it, still can't quite make it a clear picture in my head because my heart wants so badly for none of it to have needed to happen.

I should have called.  I'm sorry.  I love you.  I love you forever.