I was scrolling through Facebook the other day (which is rare, because I hardly ever check it these days) and I came to a post of my cousin’s. It was a picture of her and my grandma Pat, who passed away unexpectedly when I was two-years-old. The caption said something along the lines of, “missing her always”. I felt my heart sink a little bit. I have this image in my head of my grandma, but really it’s just a compilation of stories people have told me and pictures I have seen of her and I together. These combine to form something resembling a memory but it’s always me on the outside looking in at my two-year-old self. I think I remember painting Easter eggs with her, but it’s funny how my brain does that. I just remember the story of painting Easter eggs with her, and my brain turned it into a “memory”. I can tell it’s not real because I don’t remember her laugh. I don’t remember our conversation, or what color paint I was using. It's hard not to be jealous that my cousins and sister got more time with her than I did. I’m jealous they formed a bond and have memories that can be cherished forever. It’s a strange feeling because I feel like I do miss her, yet I never really knew her. I know I love her, yet I hardly remember her.

However, I do like to think that she knows me. Maybe she was there at my high school prom, or graduation. Maybe she’s the song that comes on at just the right time. Maybe she’s the cardinal that seems to come out of nowhere on a cloudless day. The only thing I’m sure of is that after this lifetime, I’ll have an eternity to know her. Grandma, I love you always.