“I Think That’s Fabulous…”

Dear Grandma,

I saw you today.

Well, not you. But I knew you were there.

It’s still hard to believe that you are gone.

It still hurts too.

I wasn’t expecting that; to still hurt. To still physically hurt. I think about you and it aches.

Its been three months since you left for your ‘vacation’. For three months I have been wanting to write to you… or about you… or for you. I don’t know which is a more accurate statement. Either way, I find it hard to do, because the ache makes it hard to type and even harder to think. And I know you wouldn’t want that. You’d want me to write something airy, funny, and with the words ‘shit and damn’ in it somewhere.

This evening I was driving home from work and I was thinking about you and what I wanted to say to you in this letter.

Within seconds I could feel the burn of tears in my eyes.

Shit.

Then I looked to my right and saw “you”.

Driving along side me was a large white truck with the name O’Donnell on the side, printed in green. Except instead of an apostrophe, there was a big ol’ shamrock.

Well, damn.

I laughed. And then I cried some more.

I cried for you, I cried for my mom, I cried for Grandpa, I cried for all of us. (And Lord knows, there are a lot of us).

And then I heard your voice, saying those four words that I hear every single time I think of you…

“I think that’s FAB-U-LOUS!”

You were always the eternal optimist. It didn’t matter what the situation was, you were always the one to point out the silver living… and you always started off with a loud, booming “I think that’s fabulous….”

I was coming down with a cold.

“I think that’s fabulous! Colds make your cheeks rosy, eyes glisten and voice sultry.”

I was struggling with declaring my major.

“I think that’s fabulous! How lucky you are to have so many interests!”

My boyfriend broke up with me (again).

Okay, you knew better than to start off with “I think that’s fabulous,” but you did find the silver lining in it… even if it seemed like a silver sliver at the time.

As I drove along side the shamrock truck, I could hear you saying those words.

Fabulous, because my tears meant something, especially tears being shed three months later. Those tears meant I loved you. Those tears meant that I was blessed to have you in my life for 30 years and 2 days. Those tears meant that my kids know Great Grandma Flo and her love for unicorns and snowmen.

And that’s fabulous.

No matter how much it still hurts.