To my grandmother,

This is your first birthday without you here. I have been reluctant to write about you because then it would be real. You’re actually gone and sometimes I still don’t believe it. I go about my days, doing what I have to do, thinking that I’m going to come home and be able to call you, hear your voice, come to your house and smell your cooking, or just give you a hug. Then, as the day passes, I remember that those days are gone. You’re gone.

The day after Valentine’s Day of 2017 was when God gained a beautiful angel, and I lost one of the most important people to me. You can go through absolutely any difficult situation, but there is no pain like losing someone so close to you.

Words can’t describe how much I miss you. I miss being young and coming home to your cooking as the smell of roasted potatoes and chicken filled the house. I miss you having the strength to argue with me about the boys I like and my choice of lipstick. I miss you picking me up from school and walking home with me, while I tell you about the bullies. I miss you having the strength to want to shop with us for hours, much longer than any of us wanted. I miss telling you about my anxiety and my depression because you were the only one who understood. The only thing I don’t miss is complaining to you about how much I hated my life at times, because those days never compared to the life I have to live without you now.

As your birthday approaches, I remember all the birthdays I got to spend with you. I remember having our huge parties at Russian restaurants and dancing until our feet hurt. You were always so full of light when you were around your family. Even if we weren’t able to have those big parties, having little get-togethers at home were when you were at your happiest. Being able to show off your cooking to us and make sure that everyone was set and happy before you even thought about sitting down and eating yourself. Those are the days I miss.

The memories that I have suppressed until now were the darkest times our family went through. Being in and out of the hospital for a year, having to spend your last birthday with you in the hospital because you were too sick to go home. Coming over your house and mom having to feed you, because you were too weak to do it yourself. Waking up almost every night because mom had to go to you. I remember holding your hand every time I was with you and saying a prayer because you believed in God, and I was so certain that if I had faith, you would just be healthy again, and no more pain would come to you.

The most bittersweet moment I can remember was when you were in so much pain and you told me to come next to you. I sat there with you, hugging you, and you told me it was all going to be okay. You cried and said to me, “Amanda, I am going to watch you get married, have kids, and live a great life. I am going to live for that.” I prayed every night for that to be true. All I wanted was my healthy and happy grandma again.

The day I lost you, was the day I had lost faith in every single thing I did. I had lost a part of me and everyone saw it. I had become different, I wasn’t who I was when you were here. As time went on, I grew up a little bit and realized that everything that happens is for a reason. Now, you’re not in pain anymore. I have dreams about you running free and being happy. That is how I know you’re still with me.

Every single thing that I have done since then, has been for you. Every single one of my accomplishments are to make you proud. I’m not nearly as successful as I want to be, but I know that once I’m on top of the world, you’ll be right there with me.

I miss you more than you’ll ever know, and I’m growing every single day to become the successful woman you have always wanted me to be.

I love you, Baba.