Conversations with Myself

There isn't any time of year I miss my grandmother more than during the Christmas season. I still remember how the day after Thanksgiving, our entire family would be obligated to replace virtually every normal decoration in her house with a Christmas decoration. The enormous boxes would get hauled up from the basement. The tree was the small project. Once the lights were on my grandmother would usually decorate it herself while the rest of us went to work on the rest of the house. The enormous mirror in the bathroom would be adorned with lights, the table top knick-knacks would be cleared away and replaced with Christmas ones complete with angel hair to imitate snow.

My grandmother's house oozed Christmas. It was her favorite holiday.

Last night, as I sat in my living room waiting for my husband to come home from work I found myself wishing my grandmother was around. On nights like last night, with it gently snowing outside we would have done exactly what I was doing: Sitting in the dark with all of the Christmas lights turned on sipping a cup of hot chocolate.

It's been five and a half years since she died and I don't think I could have missed her any more than I did last night. I miss the talks we used to have. I miss how we would giggle over just about anything. I miss the stuff we used to do on Sundays just because we were bored. I miss the way she used to giggle every time one of my guy friends - who I had no interest in dating - called and I rolled my eyes as I spoke to them on the phone. I remember hearing someone say it takes 7 years to get over someone close to you dying. At the time I was young and stupid and thought that seemed a very long time. Now I wonder if I'll be so lucky.

A part of me hopes I won't.