Eight

Eight. 

To some, eight years might not seem like many. Mr. Gray and I have been together more than eight years. To others, it’s more than a lifetime. Two of my nephews weren’t even born eight years ago. It can be right in between. Eight years is half my oldest nephew’s life. It’s all relative, really. 

Today, though, to me, eight years seems like yesterday. I can hear my Grammie’s voice. I can smell the Jergens soap on the kitchen counter in its pottery pump. I can see her standing behind me in the mirror when I am getting ready, just like she always did. When I see a butterfly or a certain shade of blue, I think of her–not just today, but every day. It seems like only yesterday she were here. I remember her so vividly. I remember her as if she is still just a short trip up I-35 to visit. 

However, I know she is gone, and she is happy. She is joyous and free! She is singing–singing beautifully to Papa, and he can hear her. They have gone Home, but we will see them again.

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