When I think of you now, I get a funny pain in my palm. This tingly feeling that signals the onset of tears. And the tears make me realize how now that you’re gone, I’ve lost my best friend. Sometimes I pick up the phone to call you, to hear your voice. But you won’t pick up. Unless I call to the big house upstairs. I know you’ll answer me then. And then we could talk. I could tell you about the wedding progress Andy and I have made, and how I am very much enjoying my internship at the magazine. You could tell me about your walks downtown and your garden. You’d maybe talk about how Rachel is doing, or the damn birds outside your kitchen window. And it would be like old times, just you and I.
You used to always whip out a tube of lipstick when we were together. “Put a little colour on your lips,” you’d say. And if I was lucky you’d dab some on my cheeks as blush. You weren’t a fancy lady. A no fuss kind of gal. But you loved your lip colour. And you were so beautiful. Thanks Nan for watching over me everyday for the past two years. For reminding me that the simple things in life make the journey worth it. For teaching me about grace, forgiveness, selflessness, and charm. And for always loving me for who I am. It’s not good bye, it’s until we meet again. I love you.