My grandma was my first babysitter and the woman who bought me my first lipstick, pinning it inside my pocket so I wouldn’t lose it on my way home from her house. She taught me how to make peanut butter fudge from scratch and let me drink coffee from the time I was barely old enough to manage the warm mug. She let me sit on the counter and eat bits of pie dough when she made cherry pie. She was the first to step beside me when my family of origin splintered, taking my hand and assuring me we’d find a way forward and walk the hard days together. She bettered my love of music via the Mills Brothers and Sam Cooke. She let me stay home from school on my birthday and was the first to remind me my parents weren’t always right and that I really could be anything I wanted to be. She was a soft place to land when I needed a shoulder and a sharp opponent when I needed to be challenged. She was big and loud and bossy and over the top and I loved her to the depth of my soul.
I hear her wit in my son’s jokes and see her spirit in the way my mom loves my kiddo—just like my grandma loved me. And thankfully, I see a glimmer of her fierceness when I look in the mirror. I find myself thinking about her so much these days and I'm grateful every week when I stop by to visit her gravesite. I love how she's there now watching over Brett Patterson but oh how I wish I could get her opinion on things and pull her old school wisdom into the chaos of today. How I wish she could listen to Sam Cooke with my son because he loves Sam now, too. How I wish he could watch her play piano and they could just do music together. How I wish my son could know her. I always miss her but today I feel her absence deeply and profoundly. She just made life better. Happy #100, Grams. You are forever in my heart. #QueenOfTheWorld
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