It’s hard to know I’ll never call you again. It’s hard to know I’ll never be loved in the same way again. It’s hard to know you and not think of you every single moment of every single day.

Losing my grandma has been my biggest fear since I understood what death is. I was scared to even mention the idea in the terror that my words would come to fruition.

Whether we’d chat on the phone for a couple minutes or several hours I always made sure to screenshot it. I’ve missed calls just so I can save the voicemails, since the first memory of our loved ones to go is the sound of their voice.

I have little, physical pieces of her in every space of my home. I have a big, metaphorical locket of her in my heart. But it doesn’t make up for her now missing from the rest of my life.

She won’t be at my wedding, dancing with my grandpa, her husband of 64 years. She won’t be at my cousins’ graduations. She won’t be at every holiday handing out cheesy cards for “an amazing granddaughter”.

It sucks. So bad. I’ve never experienced grey-tinted days until now.

It’s super weird to go from having a great, peaceful morning cooking breakfast to slowly starting to sob because you can’t stop staring at your plate. Because it’s her plate. Was, her plate.

All this to say – I love you. I miss your smile and laugh. All I want to do is call you, because you always cheer me up. I love you forever and always times 800 million, etc., etc.

Love, Maggie