This time of the year is always hardest for me. Fall is my favorite season, a fondness my grandfather and I shared alike. The smell of the crisp, sweet air and the ever-changing beauty of the Connecticut foliage brings back memories of my favorite man, Pop. Losing him was easily one of the greatest losses I will ever experience. As I sit here typing and thinking about the pain I feel when I miss him, I remember my grandmother and, suddenly, feel a wave of guilt, acknowledging how much more difficult and painful that loss was for her. I may never understand just how much losing Pop has hurt her. In so many ways her pain has been unnoticeable, most likely because she has handled it with absolutely unbelievable grace and strength.

It has been nearly a decade since we lost Pop, rather unexpectedly, and I’ve seen nothing but growth and happiness emulate from Gram since that awful day. Even when I know she is in unimaginable emotional pain, and, as her body ages, bouts of physical pain here and there, she smiles. And man, how that smile can get me through even the darkest of days. Throughout my life, she has provided me with never-ending, absolutely unconditional love. She has been one of my biggest supporters, sitting front row at nearly every performance, dance recital, music concert, and school event. She has acted not only as my grandmother, but also as my parent, especially when my dad was deployed and my mom really needed (and rightfully deserved) a break from the chaos. She is the best shopping buddy around (mostly because she tells me to just buy everything I pick up). Most importantly, however, she is my best friend. She has been my shoulder to cry on when I need it most. She is just a phone call away and is always willing to chat with me. She gossips with me while she teaches me how to cook a classic Irish dish. She fascinates me with stories about her life, growing up in Ireland and later creating a life for herself across Manhattan and Brooklyn. She reminds me of the many wonderful roles Pop played in my life, keeping those memories of him alive as I begin to feel them slip away with my childhood.

So, Gram, this one is for you. Although it’s not nearly enough to tell you how much you mean to me, I know that one day I will be able to read this over and continue adding all the ways you make me feel special and all the ways you make everyone with whom you interact smile from ear to ear. Thank you for showing me strength when anyone else would have crumbled. Thank you for teaching me grace and poise and how to be an independent woman. Thank you for raising my dad to be the strong, amazing man and father that he is. But most of all, thank you for loving me. Thank you for kissing me and hugging me and holding my hand. Thank you for signing every card with oxoxoxox across the entire bottom edge. Thank you for cuddling with me on Christmas Eve and raising a glass with me on St. Paddy’s Day. Thank you for chatting with me while I walk home from class and for always making me laugh by insisting you are just shy of sixty-years-old (honestly, you look like you are). I adore you and love you, and I will forever aspire to be the selfless, classy woman you are in all that I do. Luckily, I already have the delicate Irish looks down, now it's time to master the rest.